


Washington Noble (Collection)

by Luna_Flare



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: AU, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anorexia, Bulimia, Developing Relationship, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, F/M, General, Like seriously anything concerning the Minutemen is Changed, M/M, Minutemen, Original Character(s), Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Phobias, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Triggers, collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-09 19:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 33,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18923827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Flare/pseuds/Luna_Flare
Summary: A place to post all of my Fallout AU stuff.This is primarily a romance with some angst thrown in.The main principle of change is that the Minutemen fell due to the General dying. Washington Noble is the (adopted) son of the last General Alexander Noble and rebuilt the Minutemen after returning from the Glowing Sea and failing to find the cure for his father. Due to this, he is now a ghoul.The Quincy Massacre still happened.





	1. "I was born after the apocalypse. People always spoke of a world I'd never get to see and I grieved for a loss I didn't understand."

A small child cried in pain. A small child cried out in the rubble of a small building and the word never listened. The world had gone deaf to the screams of a small child. Since the bombs had fallen, it was commonplace. The nameless child looked up with wide eyes at a mother who never should have been a mother, high on more chems than the child could count to.

She took a knife to him and cut him for each hit she took. The child couldn't understand and maybe the child never would. He couldn't understand why she'd hurt him. He couldn't understand why the hand that fed him hurt him.

So the child stayed hidden, abused and used as a personal toy, aching to be one of the children who he saw from a small hole in the rubble, children with parents who appeared to love them.

The child knew pain. The child knew anger and yet he still craved for the fake abusive affection, the love she claimed to harbor.

The child grieved for a childhood he'd lost, a childhood he couldn't understand. The child wished for a name, a family, and yet, all the child got was a mother with chems on her lips and strangers around her hips and the child grieved, grieved for something he'd never understand.

The child - the child ran away in search of something better, something new. He ran and he ached. He ached and he ran till he couldn't anymore and he fell flat on the floor.

He cried but no tears fell from his face. The child was tough, but he was not fearless. He whimpered as radroaches attacked him. He was too weak to fight them and they attacked him in swarms. He whimpered, covering his face after one cut a deep gash with its mouth parts.  

He wanted to escape the pain, but he'd walked into more. He screamed, although his lungs ached and he couldn't make much sound. He'd take his mother over this. The chems. The strangers. Anything.

The child knew he was going to die. He was going to die from the bugs. He cried. He cried and he couldn't stop.

He barely noticed when the bugs were squished and pushed off him, but he noticed as he was picked up. Blood ran over his eyes and his vision was blurry with tears. He didn't know who'd got him, but he felt calmed suddenly. The person didn't smell like his mother and the chest he was nestled against was flat. He felt protected and warm. He snuggled into the stranger's arms, being carried somewhere.

As he fell asleep, he wondered if he was going to die. He wondered if the stranger would take him back to his mother, if he was just another of her strangers. But the child - the child had just tasted a blast of home. And the child knew he wanted that forever.

He lied to the stranger, claiming the death of his mother, and he was kept by him. The child made his home and was given a name - Washington. He had lied to the stranger, but he had found his home.

The child, now called Washington, was happy for a while, but he grew bitter at the childhood he had lost. He grew bitter at his inability to understand things that everyone else seemed to know.

He began to read eventually, helped by the person he had claimed as a parent. He sat next to him on cold nights and weary days, reading about a life before the bombs fell, a life where children were rescued and people were safe, a life where no one had to fight and the heroes were small and brave. The child grieved for this world, this world he would never know.

The child slept warm, safe, sometimes alone and sometimes next to the person who had claimed him, his new parent, when nightmares of his youth plagued him. He felt happy for a while. Secure, away from the abuse and the pain and the drugs. He had his dog tags to remind him of his name, remind him he was wanted. He had a name and he had a home. He was as happy as he could be. For now at least.

He should have known it was too good to be true, the child thought. He was now more of a teen. His mother had found him again and he hurt. He didn't cry. He knew she didn't like that and he didn't want to thirst. He screamed inside his head for his dad to save him, the once stranger who loved him more than the woman in front of him ever had.

She realised he was her son eventually and she decided she wanted too have a bit of fun with him before she sold him on. She yelled at him, told him to admit he was nothing, that he had no name, but the child knew it was all he had in this world. “Washington Alexander Noble,” he choked. He said it over and over. A defiance. A lifeline. He was Washington Alexander Noble and he knew his dad would save him.

He didn't admit to her he'd lost hope. He knew she'd throw him away then. Useless. She broke one of his adult teeth in a fit of rage, and the last of his baby ones. The customers who came to use him complained that he couldn't do as good of a job for them without them. He felt broken. Would his dad even want him when he came back? His skin itched, unclean. He urged to untie his hands and claw his skin away, but he couldn't. 

The customers didn't like how feisty he was. The returners brought drugs after he'd kicked and screamed at them before. They calmed him. They made him feel happy - separate. They reminded him of home in a way. He performed their tasks for them and didn't feel disgusted. He felt calm and protected. Part of him knew that couldn't be further from the truth, but the other half…

He craved for them to come back. He craved for the substance they were giving him. He didn't care what they did as long as the drug was given to him. He became more eager, more popular, and gained more of the drug as his clientele grew. He was satisfied.

They brought less of the drug as time went on. Some brought food and some brought just themselves and a dose of pain and guilt. He was as angry as his mother was pleased by him, claiming that he'd make something good one day, that he'd be a good sell, a good income. She refused him the drug, taunting him. He grew aggressive as she kept it away. He needed it. He needed it. It was all he needed.

He began to lose himself under the haze of drugs. She asked him his name one day and he couldn't remember. He knew it, but he couldn't remember. She'd grabbed him by the hair and pulled him close to her mouth. He could smell the sharp tang of whiskey on her. “That's right," she whispered in his ear. “You're no one. No one cares.” She threw him into the cell and left. It was ages before someone else came with the drug and he let out broken cries. No one was coming for him. No one cared.

Some of the people who came to use him forced him to drink alcohol, preferring the hands and breath of the drunken child. The child gained a taste for it, anything like it. It made him forget. It made him feel better. He liked it. Some people left bottles in his cell and he drank them gratefully, to the point of passing out. There was nothing worth remembering anymore.

She took his pendant, his dog tags, one day. He struggled to remember why, but he knew they were important. He fought for a first time in a long time. He bit and he thrashed. He wished he wasn't tied down. He wanted to attack her for everything she'd done for him. She'd taken everything. He'd lost everything.

His dad crashed through the door and his mother met a swift end with a bullet through her forehead, courtesy of Ronnie. He clung to his dad once he untied him, glad to hear his heartbeat. His voice. He was aware of him speaking, but he didn't know what he was saying. It didn't matter. His dad released the rest of the children and some of the adults who'd been kidnapped. He escorted them to Diamond City, away from the hellhole. The child fell asleep in his dad's arms. He was home, he knew, and yet he craved for the rush of drugs and the feeling of elevation. He needed it, but he didn't know how to get it. He needed it. The child grieved for the loss of the cage. The drug.

The child was given a blue canister. Addictol, he was told. He took it and the world became better, he thought. More vivid. He remembered who he was - Washington Alexander Noble. But he wasn't who he remembered. He was quiet now. He'd had his innocence stolen from him. He mourned for the loss. He didn't know if he still had the right to be called the General's son. He was nothing as well, though, no one, and he wondered when the others would see.


	2. Jumpsuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the strongest intro but a songfic to TOP's Jumpsuit.

**_Jumpsuit_**

_"I'll be right there”_

 

Washington stared at his dad, tightness balling in his chest and stinging rose behind his eyes. He wasn't going to go like this, was he? His dad was too strong for this, surely. One feral couldn't take him, could it? The doctor had left, giving him RadAway and a shaky fake smile, making no promises of him lasting the night. He didn't want him to go.

_  
_ _“_ _But you'll have to grab my throat and lift me in the air”_

 

He felt his throat tighten as he choked back a sob. Crying wasn't going to help anything. It was just a waste of water, as he could remember his biological mother telling him cruelly. She'd taught him the lesson harshly, restricting his water access if he cried, taunting him for wasting water and telling him he didn't deserve it. She'd taught him "special lessons" as well. His skin itched at the memory. He felt unclean suddenly.

_  
_ _“If you need anyone, I'll stop my plans”_

 

Ronnie gripped one of Dad's hands tightly as if her will alone, as if her grip could bring him back from the brink of salvation. Washington still found it hard to believe she didn't love him at times. Her heavy eyelids pleading for him to stay alive. She hadn't cried. She looked at him with a wet sort of hope, however, eyes glistening in the flicker of the oil light. She deserved to be here more than he did, but he knew she'd move if he asked of her. He felt like a fraud. He didn't deserve them.

_  
_ _“But you'll have to tie me down and then break both my hands”_

 

Washington hated himself for it, but he wanted to leave. He looked around at the rest of their small group, who'd been on the way to negotiate with the mayor, most of them old diplomats who had known Dad, the General, for most of his life. He felt like a fraud. He didn't deserve this.

_  
_ _“If you need anyone”_

 

He didn't deserve this. He'd lucked out and gotten the best father he could wish for and all because he'd ran away from his mother and her abuse, right to Dad and… His thoughts span away down old thought paths, and half-forgotten memories.

_  
_ _“I'll be right there”_

 

He brushed over Dad's knuckles with his thumb, his eyes glimmering and blurring his vision. He didn't want to lose him like this.

_  
_ _“But you'll have to grab my throat and lift me in the air”_

 

He let go of Dad's hand, placing it carefully back at his side. He looked up to Ronnie and saw she was in a world of her own, her world reduced to herself and Dad. Her thoughts reduced to keeping him alive. He turned and walked slowly away. He didn't belong here.

_  
_ _“(If you need anyone)”_

 

He began to walk away. He was going to be General if Dad died. He didn't want it. He didn't deserve it. He'd just run, scared in the wrong detection. He'd lucked into everything he called his and he knew others deserved it more than him. Maybe he'd run again where no one could find him. He tried not to cry. No one would miss him if Dad died.

_  
_ _“If you need anyone (if you need anyone)”_

 

He looked back to find someone else had taken his place. Replacing him. It was that easy, he thought, just to replace him. It proved he didn't really belong.

_  
_ _“If you need anyone (if you need anyone)”_

 

He stayed out of sight, walking towards the Dugout Inn. If nothing else, alcohol could cleanse him, make him forget, make him worth less then he was in the eyes of Dad. That was, if the eyes ever opened again. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to lose him. Not here. Not now.

_  
_ _“If you need anyone (If you need anyone)”_

 

He tried to stifle the guilt as his senses burned under the sharp sting of the alcohol. It was all he deserved. He should have been sold and made pretty, not ending up with a fairytale ending. He growled inhumanly.  

He could be an addict like his mother. He growled. He didn't deserve life. The last thing he remembered was a plain looking black-haired woman approaching him. Then he was gone.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Ronnie’s heart stopped beating in her chest as her hand moved to cover her mouth to stifle her gasp. Washington… He couldn't be… Could he?

He was lying in the gutter, sprawled across, and Ronnie couldn't see the rise of his chest from the end of the alley. Was he breathing? She hissed his name as she raced towards him. He didn't respond to her. She should have been watching him. She should have known he'd do something stupid. Unpredictable. She prayed for him not to be dead as she fumbled with his wrist, trying to find his pulse. He had to be alive. She didn't need to lose someone else.

She felt his pulse, revealed when she felt the soft beat of his heart. She could smell alcohol on him. She sighed. She couldn't believe he'd gotten this wasted. She didn't have time for this, not when Alex could be dying.

She shook him awake, watching as his eyes opened bleary. He looked at her with no recognition, confusion marring his blue eyes that were so close in colour to Alex’s. She sighed.

He looked up to her, panicked. “Where am I?” he stuttered. “What happened?” he trembled slightly, fear evident. She was torn between pity and yelling. She chose the latter. "You stupid idiot.” She towered over him as he lay on the floor. “You complete and utter idiot. What do you think you were doing? I've spent half the night looking for you.” She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him up sharply.

He leaned against the tin wall, disorientated, lacking the energy to worm out of her grip, “Sorry,” he said simply. Ronnie glared at him. He said, meekly, “How’s Dad? Is he... ?” He trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence as if saying the word would make it true.

“I wouldn't know, would I?” Washington flinched as she continued glaring at him. “I get stuck dealing with you and your issues, don't I? I thought you were over this, Washington.”

Washington looked sheepish. “Yes. Mainly.” He thought of his hidden alcohol stash at the Castle and felt slightly guilty. He should have been over it. Ronnie was right, yet he'd found it was the best way to keep the nightmares out of his head. The slight buzz, it kept his head clear. With everything that had happened to his dad, it increased the craving to the point he couldn't ignore it.

He'd gone without it for a while and then he'd slipped, slipped back down again. He thought it was moderately under control. He didn't drink that often. He hadn't drunk to the point of passing out in so long. He thought he was better than that. Ronnie was right. “What do you mean by 'mainly?'” Washington refused to look at her. “I swear, Washington, you said you'd sorted this," she groaned. “There's bigger issues to deal with now.” She lowered her voice in a warning. “I am watching you like a hawk, Washington. You are not too old to be disciplined yet.”

She walked off, turning back around to pull Washington by the wrist when he didn't follow her. “If you want to act like a child, Washington, I will treat you like one.” She was shocked when he still didn't fight her grasp.

She paused and Washington walked into her. “Alright,” she snapped. “Tell me what's wrong. Now.”

She was shocked when she saw a tear roll from his eyes. “I don't belong, Ronnie," he snapped. “I walked off cause I don't belong.  I'm no relation to anything, to anyone. I walked off and no one noticed. Doesn't that say something?” his breathing turned panicked. “I only wanted to clear my head. I had one drink and I can't remember. Ronnie, why can't I remember? I usually remember.”

“Hush, Washington.” She softened her voice. “You belong. You were chosen. Alex did wake up and he asked for you a few hours ago. He's looking better, but I'm not gonna lie, the odds still aren't in his favour.” She looked at him. “Clean up, Washington. I'll tell your dad you'll be back soon.”

Washington walked off and she sighed. She didn't need to deal with Washington's problems now. She made it her first priority to search the General's quarters for hidden alcohol when she returned. She walked back to wait for Alex to wake up. Alex didn't need to know about the incident. She hoped her and Washington could sort it between them, and if they couldn't… her thoughts trailed off.

It didn't bear thinking about.


	3. Mission Discord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small group head out to find a cure for General Noble in the Glowing Sea.

“You're kidding me, right? I have to be put under _your_ control?” Harley laughed disbelievingly before trailing off. “You're not kidding me, are you?”

Washington frowned. “I outrank you.”

“Yes. And? I trained you. You should listen to me.”

“Training doesn't matter.” Washington spoke clearly, climbing idly onto his radstag. He patted it's neck fondly. “I'm TIC.”

“And I'm a commander,” Harley fumed.

“We’re all commanders. That's the point. Dylan is, I am, you are, Sam is, Mitch is, Rodger is. You see my point?”

Harley glared as they began to walk away from the Castle. “We all know you're only TIC ‘cause you're a daddy's boy. If you weren't the General's son, you'd stand no chance.”

“Maybe.” Washington sighed and turned to look at him. “Look, I'm leading. If you have a problem, go back now. This isn't about you or me. It's about saving my… the General. You in or out?”

Harley mumbled and spoke to the floor. “In.”

“Good.” Washington smiled and clapped his hands. "Let's get going.”


	4. The Death of General Alexander Noble

"I made you cry, Ronnie," Alex smiled sadly. "I didn't think I could make you cry." 

"I'm not crying. It's the rain." She looked away, "Don't you dare die on me, Alex." She glared at him. "You can't die today." Her voice broke. "You should die at the Castle with the people you love and Washington -" she stopped, feeling an intense pain in her chest. "You need to tell him how proud you are of him."

Water traced down the newly formed groves on her skin, salt mixed with the radioactive rain. Alex lifted his hand up to trace her face, brushing the water away. "In another life, Ronnie," He coughed sharply. "In another life, we'd have been great together." His eyes widened and he moved to clutch his abdomen. "I'm proud of my family. You and Washington. Find him. Tell him." He closed his eyes. " We'll meet again one day. I - I -" he began coughing again, painfully, his eyes widening as his body failed him, unable to clear what it was trying to before falling silent.  
Ronnie clutched his hand as he went, holding it over his heart. "Don't go, Alex." She choked, "Please".   
  
Alex did not respond. He couldn't. He stared up at her, the bright electric blue faded pale, the restless movement stopped. He was - He was dead.

She wailed loudly, clutching at his hand. The world seemed to stop silent. Nothing dared to disturb the duo, scared by the noise. Or maybe the world understood. The wasteland could understand grief, formed from misery as it was. The wasteland could understand grief.

But stopped as it was, the world restarted as her cry levelled off, birds repeated screeching, the mole rats scavenging, and the ghoul? She collapsed and wept, unable to do much more.

Time restarted for her as the rain stopped, the sun awakening her. She closed his eyes as the Sun's rays filtered through the clouds onto them. She whispered, "Farewell, Alex. Alexander Noble” as if it was a secret to be protected. “May the stars watch over you."

She paused, moving his limp limbs into the recovery position. She continued to talk to him. "Say hi to Washington for me. Tell him he's an idiot, killing his dad like this." She trailed off. "I'm sorry." She apologised for everything and nothing at once. She apologised as she let go of him, cursing as she realised she had no means to bury him.

She removed one of his dog tags and slipped it onto the chain with her own, leaving the other on him. She needed to find something, somewhere, to lay him to rest. But not now. She swiped angrily at her face, feeling her nose move slightly - decaying. She cursed the radiation. It had taken so much…

She lay down next to Alex and slept. What did it matter what happened to her now? The radroaches could have her, her life. Her "family" were all dead. She'd known there was no hope for Washington. And Alex? Angry tears streamed down her face. It was unfair. She was turning ghoul, becoming immortal in a way, but, she thought, what was the point of living anymore?


	5. Friction

“Are you kidding me, Washington?”

Washington turned sharply to face Harley with an incredulous expression. He couldn’t believe this. He was trying to create a sense of organisation out in this unforgiving wasteland and Harley was attempting to sabotage that. For what purpose? They had to get out of the Sea as soon as they could. That wasn’t going to be possible with idiotic interruptions. Washington suppressed his anger, glaring daggers at Harley as he gave his response.

“I’m trying to maintain a bit of damn order. We need to stay organised if we’re going to survive out here and get back home alive.”

Harley didn’t hesitate before spitting back his answer.

“Order? You call this order? If you can’t tell, Washington, we’re not exactly a force to be reckoned with. We’re struggling to survive out in a glowing radioactive hellhole. And hell, we wouldn’t be stuck out here at all if it weren’t for you!”

Wary of their surroundings, Dylan cringed at every word they said. Shouting was certainly going to attract unwanted attention before long. It wasn’t just that. Arguments had always made Dylan uneasy and this one was no different. Worse, actually, considering their location and unfortunate circumstances. The last thing they needed now was to be located by something intent on killing them. Drowned out by the others arguing, his voice was barely audible, barely taken notice of.

“Come on, stop with the yelling. We’re going to end up drawing attention out here…” he mumbled, his quiet voice trailing off into silence as he wrung his hands, eyes darting all around for anyone or anything ready to attack.

Neither Washington nor Harley had heard him, of course, or if they had, they definitely chose to ignore his reasonable words of caution, too absorbed in their altercation. Washington was overwhelmed with fury at Harley’s accusation. _His_ fault?! Who did he think he was, saying such a thing about him? What even gave him the right to talk back to his superior like this? Washington clenched his teeth and his fists, anger muddling his thoughts. Casting his mind back to his last memory of Noble, a man sickened with disease, death a near inevitability, his annoyance only increased. Letting him die was not something Washington would ever be prepared to do, not when he could attempt to head out and find a cure as he was doing. Obviously, their search had gone nowhere near as successfully as he’d hoped, but the effort counted for something. He wasn’t going to let this insolent idiot shift the blame onto him when he had only the best intentions at heart. So he yelled back at him, spitting out his words with a growl to his voice.

“My fault?! So I’m the one to blame when all I wanted to do was save Dad, is that it?”

 **“** _Yes_ , obviously. This was all your idea. You dragged us out here. Now half of our group is dead and look at us. We’re goddamn rotting. All because of you!”

Right now, Dylan didn’t care what they all looked like. Hideous, rotting monsters or not, anything that found them wouldn’t care less. He just wished for an end to the squabbling. But again, he was hardly heard. Or hardly listened to. His voice almost shook.

“This isn’t helping anything. Can we please just move on?”

Washington glared and almost found himself snarling. It didn’t matter to him if Harley had a valid point or not. Currently, his only concern was his father and whether or not they’d find the cure he needed. Whether or not he was already dead, wherever he might be, his last thoughts being of Washington. He would have thought about him. He had to have done, even when no one else in their right mind would care about him.

But in truth, he doubted even this.

What was he doing, thinking this way? It was foolish. He needed to distract himself. He had to regain control of what was happening at the present moment.

“Shut it! I wasn’t just going to sit there and let him die, was I?! Now just… just shut up and keep a lookout.”

He turned away from Harley, too infuriated to even look at him.

After brief hesitation, Harley uttered his reply with a tone of remarkable bitterness. He, too, was clenching his teeth. His voice was lower and quieter, almost mocking.

“You think you can boss us around, but you’re not even the General yet. You’re barely even second in command. You only got that title because your father is the General when in reality, you’re nothing but a _spoilt brat_.”

“Well, you’re wrong on that point because General Noble is not my actual father!”

The response was sudden, unexpected. Washington cursed his stupidity and paused, taking deep, heavy breaths. There was no response from Harley. Dylan also said nothing, more relieved over the eventual respite from the argument than anything else.

Harley thought to himself about what Washington had just confessed. Noble wasn’t his actual father? He considered the General’s appearance and compared it to Washington’s; in hindsight, they looked almost nothing alike. Noble was shorter and leaner, with silvery black hair that contrasted sharply with the bright blonde hair Washington had. And besides, there had never been any mention of a mother as far as Harley knew, which he had always assumed to mean that something had happened to her, that she was gone and neither Washington nor Noble preferred to speak of her. But in light of Washington’s rash utterance, he rethought this view.

If Noble wasn’t Washington’s actual father, then maybe it wasn’t necessarily nepotism that motivated him to promote him to second in command. At this thought, Harley calmed down, releasing the built up tension from his stiff shoulders. Withdrawing his glare from Washington’s eyes, he looked away, glancing at some unclear object on the horizon. He swallowed his pride. He’d follow Washington’s orders, if only to calm the current situation at the very least, and as a way of offering his apology.


	6. Tell Me

“Are you an alcoholic?” Dylan asked quietly. Washington pretended not to hear him, continuing to nurse the bottle of whiskey he had found. They had stopped for the night in a collapsed house. The infrequent amount of visitors to the Glowing Sea allowed for the cupboards within the house to be well-stocked.

They lay back, feeling full for the first time since they had been in the Glowing Sea. Due to this, Harley had begun dozing off, using Washington's shoulder as an unwilling pillow. Washington had found a cupboard full of alcohol and had been drinking since. He'd felt immediately better, the tremor in his hands stopping and his nausea abating slightly.

He'd hid a few bottles in the bottom of his pack, along with spare food they had managed to acquire from the ruins of the house. He had thought nobody had noticed. He must have been wrong.

In truth, Dylan had been watching Washington for a while. They'd been out here for months already and he noticed that he drank at any given opportunity. “Are you an alcoholic, Washington?” Dylan asked the question louder. “It's just -”

Washington glared at him. “What would give you that idea?” he asked aggressively, cutting Dylan off. He jostled his shoulder slightly, causing Harley to complain sleepily under his breath.

Dylan shrunk visibly. “It's just you've barely eaten and you haven't put that bottle down since you've found it.” Washington groaned as Harley chose that convenient moment to wake up and join the conversation.

“Dylan’s right.” Harley spoke rather clearly for someone who had been asleep moments prior. “And if I'm right, you were drinking on the way out here and just trying to hide it.” His voice turned angry. “Maybe having an incapacitated leader is what caused us to fumble and half of us to die.” Washington didn't answer. “You aren't going to deny it, are you?!”

Dylan cut in meekly. “Harley, this really isn't the time.”

Harley cut him off. “No. This is the perfect time. Before our ‘fearless’ leader stumbles us into more danger.”

Slowly, Washington turned to look at Harley, tiredness making his eyes bloodshot. He tried to come up with a response that justified himself, but he couldn't. “Just drop it,” he growled.

Harley yanked the bottle off him. “Tell me," he growled, low and dangerous, looking feral. “Tell me,” he repeated.

  



	7. If the Last Thing That I do, is Bring you Down, I'll bleed Out For You.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could do with modernisation. Dylan is now only lost canonically rather than dying.

Washington leant back against a sheltered wall as a radstorm raged around him, the yellow tint of the sky hiding his face slightly. He closed his eyes and placed his fingers against the bridge of his nose while keeping his other hand on the floor. He kept his breathing levelled, dismayed at the state of his skin as it appeared to fall away under his touch. He was going ghoul, he knew, and he couldn't think of anything worse.

Harley sat next to him, cross-legged and looking slightly more awake. Their fingers brushed, reminding each other that they were still alive. Black pigment had started to bleed around Harley’s green eyes, causing his eyes to burn. He forced them to stay open. He didn't want to die here. Not really.

A thundering crash jarred Washington awake slightly, pulling him out of his dozing state. He sadly looked at Harley out of electric blue eyes, burning as blood pooled in them. “I'm sorry,” Washington muttered sadly. “I screwed everything up.”

Harley looked back at him. “General,” he started.

“I'm not the General," came back Washington's distorted voice. “I don't want to be the General. Not if it means-”

The silence weighed heavy between them for a moment, Washington caught up in his head. They'd failed, hadn't they? It was twelve months. Twelve months since they'd left. There was no way the General had survived this long. A tear tracked down Washington's face; he'd never even got to say goodbye. He knew his father was probably dead and it hurt. It hurt so much.

Harley continued. “You are  _my_ General, Washington. I'll follow you to the ends of the Earth.” He leaned against Washington's shoulder, feeling tired suddenly. “Things could be worse. We’re both alive.”

Washington shook from anger and weariness. “But everyone else _died_ , Harley. And Dylan…” he trailed off, the loss still fresh in his mind. He'd placed the bullet through his head himself as Harley pinned down the snarling soldier. He’d gone feral a few days ago, changing appearance faster than Washington’s or Harley’s had. He'd lost his hair and his eye colour completely.  He remembered the eyes gaining a yellow glint, reflecting the chaos of the Glowing Sea, before he leapt at them. Washington rubbed some deep grooves Dylan had left in his arm, wincing at the sharp sting. He still felt painful guilt at the loss. They all should have escaped together, all three of them, escaped the Glowing Sea. Washington continued slowly, fearfully. "What if that happens to us, Harley? I don't… I don't...” Washington stuttered. “I don't want to hurt anyone.” His voice became downcast as he fiddled with the dog tags around his neck. “I don't want to be alone.”

Harley looked dead forward. “If that happens, we’ll have to deal with it. We can't afford to be pessimistic.”

“But what if-" Washington cut in. “What if we don't make it?"

Harley grasped Washington's hand, staring into his eyes. “Then it will have been an honour, General.”

They heard a voice speak in the distance. “Me super mutant smell pathetic human.” They gripped each other for a moment before coming to their senses and reloading their weapons as quietly as possible. They snuck out of the half-collapsed building, keeping close to each other.

They couldn't take on super mutants, they knew. It was suicide in their current state. They were both battle-weary, tired, and in pain. Dylan had left cuts down both of them, his nails shockingly sharp. The attack had been so sudden - unexpected.

They both kept low to the ground as they crept around the doorway. They saw a super mutant patrol silhouetted against the constant fog present in the Glowing Sea. They both looked at each other, signalling that they should hide inside until they left. They wouldn't be long, hopefully, and then they could move to safer ground. Harley crept up the stairs slowly, keeping his gun trained on the door while Washington set up makeshift mines by it.

Suddenly, the stairs creaked ominously underneath Harley before giving in with a sharp snap. Harley yelled as a giant splinter forced its way into into his leg as he fell to land hard with a loud thud on the floor. He bit his arm hard to try to stop himself from making any more noise while cursing internally. He heard the patrol pause outside and cursed again. The stairs had given them away. He resisted the urge to cry. He didn't really want to die.

Washington's head snapped around at the noise. He crept quickly up the stairs and attempted to grab Harley to help him back up. The stairs groaned under Washington's weight and Washington was forced to move as more of the stairs gave way. He swore under his breath. He couldn't lose Harley as well.

Outside, a super mutant hound howled, a long weary cry, before they heard it's footsteps charging towards them. “Go,” Harley whispered quickly. “I'll be fine.”

The dog scratched at the door. Both Washington's and Harley's hearts froze, too scared to continue beating. “You won't be, though.”

The dog burst through the door, causing the fragmentation mines to beep quickly before exploding the hound in a shower of blood and green flesh. The other mutants outside charged, causing the ground to shake violently.

Harley swore loudly. “Go!” he yelled at Washington. “I'll meet you at the Castle, I promise.” He chucked his tags at Washington. “Go!”

Washington ran. Guilt flared in his chest as he ran away. Coward, his mind screamed at him, blaming him for all he'd ever done wrong. He ran and hid in a small locked compartment of a crashed plane and put Harley's tags around his neck. He revelled in the pain his broken breaths caused. He deserved it.

He didn't cry as he huddled in the plane. He didn't. He also didn't want to admit that he had got drunk to the point of passing out off the alcohol that some doomed passengers had brought. The stuff was strong and tasted more expensive than what he usually drank. He punched the mirror in the compartment when he noticed it. He didn't want to look at himself anymore. He clawed some of the peeling skin away from himself, revelling in the pain.  The blood.

He woke up with fuzzy memories and his face screaming in agony at him. He saw clumps of hair he'd torn out in grief and anger littering the room, the stench of alcohol turning his stomach. He didn't want to cope like this. He didn't need to cope like this. He threw up, glad for the sink in the small compartment. This was pathetic. He didn't need to die like this.

He walked on alone making a silent vow. He needed to live. For Harley. For Dylan. He needed to remember until he could pass on their stories.

Then, he thought, he could curl up in a hole and die. Nobody would need him then. He could be left alone to die, to drink. It would be peace.


	8. All the Kids are Depressed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley goes home.

Harley walked up the stairs slowly to see his mattress how he'd left it. He was glad. He didn't want to mess his parents around even more. They'd done enough for him by not sending him away screaming when they knew what he was. A ghoul. A mess. It didn't exactly fit the image of the garage. He wasn't… cool.

Everything seemed separate from him. He was aware of the chatter going off below him, but he couldn't bring himself to care, to get involved. Things weren't how they were before and they never would be, Harley was sure. He felt everything and nothing at once. A great pain focused on his chest. He slipped on his side and under the covers as his diaphragm started to spasm and he wept. He didn't want to. It was unmanly - uncool. And yet, he couldn't stop.

Sleep didn't come to him. He didn't deserve it. Instead, he lay on his side with his eyes open, thinking about everything. His mind focused on Dylan and he let out a larger sob. He couldn't believe he was dead. He was far too young. It may only have been a week they were together, but hell, did he miss him. As cruel as it was, he'd part wished Washington had died instead. At least he was tainted in some ways. But Dylan? He was everything. And now he had gone. Forever.

He - he didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to think. He was empty.

He'd lie facing the workshop at first, watching other people do their work. Separate from him. Everything was as it should be. Separate from him.

A few too many worried looks from Zeke - from his father- urged him to turn to face the wall. He was alone then. He traced light patterns across his ghoul scars. He was alone. All alone. Ronnie had left in search of Washington - dead. He was dead. And his dad couldn't care less, too busy running after Axel. His replacement. He was still waiting for his Dad to tell him to go. He wasn't - He didn't fit. Tears rolled down his face and he sobbed. Nobody wanted him.

He felt his dad press a hand against him, but it was all a lie. He wasn't Axel. He'd never be loved like him.


	9. My Memories Came Back in the Form of Something Else.

John awoke to the sound of harsh breathing. Sobbing. Heartbreaking tears. He rose silently from his bed, looking across in the direction of the sound. He was shocked to see the General curled up on his bed against the wall, crying. The General looked small, something John thought he wasn't capable of. During all the time, the few months that John'd known Washington, he'd never seen him look small or vulnerable. He was in a world of his own, distracted by whatever was on his mind.

“Washington,” John called across the room softly. “Are you alright?”

Washington turned owlishly, eyes wide, tears glistening from his eyes.

“No,” he said brokenly. “I mean, yes.” He corrected himself quickly. John shot him an unamused look while Washington looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. “It doesn't matter," Washington finally settled on. “It was just a dream.”

“Nightmares?” John queried.  

“Yes,” Washington replied reluctantly. “It's just one of those things. I'm sorry I woke you up.”

“There's no need to apologise, brother. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I'm sorry for crying. I just feel so damn helpless all over again. It's the same thing but different people. Ronnie, Gold, Dad, and now you. I'm helpless to stop it.” Washington's speech came hurried in gasping pants.

“Calm down. Breathe, Washington. I have some Calmex if you need it.” Hancock offered the needle, only for Washington to shake his head. “No. I'm fine.” Washington levelled his breathing. “Just give me a minute.”

“Okay.” John paused for a second, leaning forwards. “If you don't mind me asking, what event is it?”

Washington looked up. “It doesn't matter.”

Hancock levelled. “If it's got you this worked up, it's gotta be something, brother. It's got to matter.”

“Fine,” Washington snapped. “It's ferals, right. Ferals murdering people. And sometimes I'm the feral. Sometimes it's how it happened. And I'm always powerless. I hate it. I hate all of it.”

“Oh." John paused, not knowing how to respond. "Oh, well." He searched his mind for a suitable response. “Ghouls don't just go feral. There's signs.”

Washington glared. “Like that ghoul in Diamond City. That thing just went feral.”

“That thing was a person, Washington,” John replied, starting to get angry. “They were not a 'thing'.”

“My dad, General Noble, was a person, too. And it murdered him. I'm sorry if I don't see level with you,” said Washington, not seeming all that apologetic.

“I remember that. That's harsh. He was just an exception, that ghoul.”

“It's happened before. It could happen again, and I'll never forgive myself if I hurt someone I care about," Washington stated.

“It won't happen,” John stated.

“But what if it does? I mean, Dylan went just like that. He attacked me and Harley. He cared about us both. Nothing matters to the feral mind.” Washington stared off. He collapsed against the bed. “I don’t want to talk about this. I'm going back to sleep. Night, John.”

Hancock stared at Washington for a bit. He was still slightly shaking. "Poor kid," he thought. Washington's breathing levelled out eventually and John followed him into the realm of sleep. He knew Washington wouldn't want to talk about this for a while, if ever. Not that he blamed him. He added it onto his mental ledger of things to remember about Washington. Nightmares. They showed the true nature of everyone.

 


	10. I Don't Believe the Hype

“Are you actually reading?” Ronnie laughed, her voice light. “Have you gone insane, Washington?”

“No.” Washington looked up from the book. “I'm still sane, although I might not be by the time I finish this.”

Ronnie walked over the room and sat on the bed next to Washington. “What's managed to capture your attention, then?”

Washington paused and looked at the cover for a few moments. “Jekyll and Hyde. Yes. Thought it was.” He pulled out a bookmark from the cover of the book and placed it down on the side. “I don't get it. How is reading… fun? It's difficult.”

“Only because you never tried. Me and Alex both tried to help you. You claimed, what, the letters moved? How could they?” Ronnie glared. “I don't know why you decided to hate reading so much.”

“I wasn't lying. Honestly.” Washington frowned. “I don't understand. Why is it just me? I still can't read that well. Regardless, is this just a social call or am I needed?"  
  
“Not really, no. I just wondered if you wanted any help. It's a lot for one person.” Ronnie looked awkward. “You don't need to overwork yourself.”

“I'm fine,  _mom._ ” Washington smiled playfully. “I'm reading, so… I'd rather be Generalling than this.”

“I'm not your mother,” she snapped, crossing her arms before trailing off. “Why are you reading?” The bizarreness of the activity. She'd have thought Washington would rather watch paint dry. Apparently, she was wrong.

“John called me uncultured because I told him I'd never read a book. He gave me a selection of books. This was the shortest, so… It's not bad to read, just a bit difficult.” 

“You're reading because John asked you to.” Ronnie looked confused from a moment. “Weird.”

“It's not weird. I’m being nice.” Washington picked the book back up.  

“Really.” She trailed off. “You sure you don't like him?"

“Of course. He's my friend.” Washington smiled. “My best friend.”

“You sure?” Ronnie shrugged nonchalantly. “If you're like Alex, you'd fall hard and fast.”

“Well…” Washington trailed off. “I'm not his son, am I? I'll never be half the man he was.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. It's hard to believe for you, I know, but Alex had flaws, too. He loved you too much, for one. And you are his son, Washington. His son in every way that's, like, important.” Washington smiled a small smile. “You're more like him than you know. It's - It's not fair on you, what happened… Alex should be sitting here with you talking about these things, not me…” A tear slipped from her eyes. “I miss the roses.”

Washington hugged her gently. “So do I.”


	11. Carrying the World is Overrated.

“You're beautiful, you know. I'm serious. You after a one night dig, I'm your man.” John grinned smugly at Washington from across the room as he lounged against the bed he'd chosen in Washington's quarters. “I mean, I'm like, actually here to socialise with you, General, and what do you do? Work.”  

“Washington, I told you. Regardless, I can't just ignore this, John. These matters are of the utmost importance."

"What could possibly be more important than me, Washington?" John sarcastically slowed the pronunciation of the name and walked towards Washington intending to look at the files himself. 

Washington noticed John attempting to look over his shoulder and sighed. "There's a group of raiders stealing from our settlements and if we don't fix it-” Washington paused to calm his tone. “It's not going to end well. Either the settlers will starve or a likely slaughter will happen. These raiders are just something else.”

“Increase security. Simple.” John grinned. “Set more patrols.”

“See,” Washington sighed. “We tried that. As I said, these raiders are just something else. We might have to try a strike on Parsons to stop it. You know, the asylum? It seems to be where they are coming from." Washington paused for a breath. "But Parsons is a fortress. People will, and I am certain of this, die to take it. I don't know if it's worth that. We should protect life, not endanger it for mere supplies, but if we don't, people starve and-”

“Chill out, brother,” John said among a puff of Jet. He leant over to look at the papers Washington was despairing over again. “It isn't just up to you. Ask your inferiors. That's what a second and a third is for. Ask Harlz or Ronnie or even Preston. He has the experience and I know you've considered him."

“But-” Washington felt that he had to take the responsibility himself. John could tell.

“You can't put all the responsibility of the world on your shoulders," John interrupted, shushing Washington. "It's going to end up crushing you.” John frowned. “In my expert opinion, you need a distraction, brother.”

“That better not be-”

Washington's face warmed up as John whispered breathily into his ear. "It can be whatever you want." Washington cringed. He was putting fire to shame. He just had to ignore the ghoul in his personal state who he had totally  _not_ become attracted to in the last few months. That would be ridiculous, unprofessional. Totally not causing this fire, nope. 

John probably wasn't even flirting with him, he was sure. Just messing with him. The comment that was whispered into his ear was just innocent. Just innocent.

John was staring, Washington noticed. “Behave, John,” Washington said with less malice than he usually would in this situation.

John frowned. “You can't just want to miss out on all of this.” 

Washington glanced around the room and focused on his safe. "You are right, you know." Before John had the chance to take his comment any other way, "Whiskey," he spoke. He almost felt John frown by the side of him, clearly not getting what he wanted from the situation. "I'm telling you, John, mix it with Quantum. It's divine." 

John's smile turned pleasant and he walked over to the safe to get the whiskey. “Don't think I can't see you blushing,” he whispered as he walked past. Washington chose to ignore the comment. In his opinion, denial was the best remedy to any situation. 

Washington was just going to get drunk and forget about life.

“Shut up, John,” Washington muttered. “Now let us get drunk and distracted. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These were written out of order. Quality jump in writing is going to be a disaster.


	12. I'm in Trouble, I'm an Addict.

John perched on Fahrenheit and pulled her into a slightly messy kiss. He gently caressed the back of her head and pulled her closer to him. She smiled back at him as they parted. “Is that a way of saying you wanna f**k?”

John pulled himself closer to her. “Yeah,” he whispered breathlessly. “What’d you say?”

“That you have no idea how weird it is to kiss a ghoul. It's all scarred. Even your tongue is.”

John whined and lifted himself up slightly, prepared to move off. “I thought race wouldn't matter to you, smoothskin.”

She pulled him back down into a passionate kiss. “No. It's just different. It's been a while. Thought you'd got the General as a new f**k buddy, to be honest. You seem close.” Her voice dropped in curiosity.

“Washington? Nah. He's too busy Generalling or whatever. Did ask him. He turned me down.”

“That must have hurt your feelings.” Fahrenheit resisted the urge to smile. “Someone telling the great John Hancock no.”

John worked at unclasping her armour, awkward as usual. “Not really.” Fahrenheit let out a gasp of disbelief, causing John to frown back at her. “What? He's an innocent snowflake. He has virgin written all over him. He's probably waiting for love or something. Love doesn't happen in the wastes.”

“And you'd know?” The question was an accusation if ever he'd heard one.

“Diamond City, born and raised. If true love happens, it'd be there. Never seen it. Don't believe in it.”

Fahrenheit looked at him in disbelief. “So, you're telling me you don't make goo-goo eyes at the General?"

“No,” he gasped in mock horror. “Why would I do that? Told you, the dude's not interested in being casual.” He grinned slightly as he finally got her armour unclasped.

“But you don't want casual, do you?” She pinned him down. “You want exclusivity. I see you if others flirt at him. You've never cared with me. You feel something more.”

“No…” John trailed off. "Weren't we busy, Far?"

“Sure.” She paused. “Close your eyes. I’ve got an idea.”

He closed his eyes, mumbling slightly, something about that idea not being fair.

“Imagine.”

“Really?” He looked up at her, deadpan. “Why would I do that? I've got you.”

“Sweet, John, but you'll enjoy this. Trust me.” He looked at her in disbelief. “Close your eyes.”

He did and lay down flat. “Imagine I'm the General.”

“You're not the right-”

“That's why I said imagine.” She paused and looked at him. “Imagine I'm the General.”

“This seems unfair."

“Of all the moments you could choose to gain a conscience. Shut up. Imagine I'm the General. Leaning against you, I push my body against yours.” She made her voice deeper. “I position my hands behind your head and lean down to kiss you, moving my body against yours. You feel aroused.”

“No shit.”

“John, really? Muscular arms press down against yours and lock you into place. They know the beautiful body they are about to uncover. They move to the stupid frilly shirt you insist on wearing and-”

John started giggling. “It's not stupid.”

“Yeah, sure. - And unbutton it to reveal...” Fahrenheit paused. “John, I can see your ribs.”

“No shit. They're supposed to be there.” He frowned. He waited for her to continue, then frowned. She obviously wasn't going to. "Far," he muttered. He sighed as she glared at him. "Fine," he snapped, more irritated than was fair. "Sorry."

He left the room, heading for the direction of his drug stash. If Fahrenheit wasn't going to let him get high the way he wanted to, he was just going to find some other way. Alone.


	13. Peeping Tom

“You two, keep it down,” a voice echoed in the dark from across the quarters. “Get a room.”

Harley turned his deaf ear to them and carried on kissing his partner. They should get a room, he grumbled to himself internally. Telling him to get a room. Who did they think they were?

Dylan had turned embarrassed, Harley could tell. His kiss had become weak after the person had yelled across the room. He would just end the kiss, but spite was surely the sweetest medicine. He stroked Dylan's hair lightly and held him close to his chest and parted from him as slowly as possible.

He glared across the room, daring the person to speak up again. He hadn't picked up the voice, distracted as he was. All he knew was that it was another male. He heard clapping in the dark and a distant, "Thank you for finally listening to reason.” Harley tensed like a snake ready to strike. He was fuming. How dare someone tell him what to do?

Dylan tapped Harley's shoulder lightly, indicating that the effort really wasn't worth it. After all, it was the middle of the night and Washington was never nice to deal with in the middle of the night if someone fetched him to solve a stupid argument. He never appreciated being woken up for some reason. Not to deal with petty issues anyway, which Harley knew was always a likely conclusion in the command quarters, unless they made enough noise to wake, and then decided to listen to Ronnie for a change. She could also be scary to deal with when raised in the night for stupid things. Same as her idiot son.

Harley still found it somewhat hard to believe that Ronnie wasn't Washington's mother. They acted alike unconsciously, and talked somewhat alike, especially when dealing with stupidity.

He'd always just chalked it up to some covered up affair the General and Ronnie had one day, which had had the bad luck of conceiving a child. An annoyance that would bless the world in the form of their beloved General. He still wasn't convinced that it wasn't and that Washington just took resemblance from a grandparent and something. ‘The greatest cover-up in the history of the Commonwealth’. Not that there'd be any point to the facade now. General Noble had been dead for over seven years. There was nothing to protect now but his legacy.

Harley fell asleep clutching Dylan's soft hand, wondering when the General was planning on making another "important" run which conveniently headed through Goodneighbor. It was about high time he and Dylan had some privacy for a change. Away from everyone, everything, and anybody who couldn't deal with public affection. He smiled. He was sure he could just make Washington make a run-up. He was sure he wouldn't mind a surprise "official correspondence" with Mayor Hancock, which Harley knew was just an excuse for a glorified piss up or shag, or whatever they did in their spare time. Certainly not the "official work" Washington claimed they were doing.

Harley couldn't care less as long as it would just get him away from all or the idiots he had to put up with on a daily basis. True privacy. It would be bliss.


	14. I've Got Fire in my Soul. (Rise up Like Glitter and Gold)

“John," Washington hissed, shoving him behind some shelter.

“What?” John snapped. “There better be-”

Washington cut John off, covering his mouth. “It's too quiet. There's something wrong.”  Washington crept forward. “There's always some activity here. It's the main route to Goodneighbor. The question is, why isn't there?”

Washington saw a light shine around a corner and dropped back, pulling John with him. “Brotherhood,” he mouthed. He holstered his gun, keeping the aim steady. John nodded, doing the same beside him. Washington hoped they wouldn't come towards them. From what he'd seen, the Brotherhood wasn't exactly big on ghouls.

They crept closer, listening to the chatter between the ranks. A female in heavy power armour spoke. “-a favour, clearing out those scum.”

Another spoke. “It's a huge amount there. Why does the Commonwealth entertain them? Vermin. Feral vermin.”

“It’s no surprise. This place is nothing like the Capitol," the woman sighed. “You know the Minutemen? I hear a ghoul runs them. We should have gone for that group first. Elder Maxson thinks he knows best-”

“That's because he does, knight. The Minutemen are stronger than they appear. A swift execution would be better. Of all the vermin among their ranks.”

Washington tensed. He sensed it would be best for them to stay hidden. He placed a hand against John to keep an eye on him.  

“Anyway, knight, you can purge easier targets first. Goodneighbor is the largest ghoul-populated city. We can purge it. Destroy it.”

Washington felt John tense against him, prepared to run back to Goodneighbor. “Don't," Washington hissed, grabbing John's arm. “Don't you dare.”

John growled at him and the torches swivelled towards them. Washington sighed in frustration. “Now look what you've done," he whispered in mild anger. 

He grabbed John and carefully crept away, knowing they'd be found if they stayed put, and then "executed".

They made it a good distance before fate struck in the fall of a falling radroach and Washington's phobia of them leading to a give away.

Later, Washington would look back and think what good timing that radroach had, somehow placing a miss-step to fall on his head rather than, say, John, who wasn't terrified of them.

Washington screamed reflexively as the radroach landed before immediately covering his mouth, realising the mistake he made. He looked a John guiltily. If the radroach wasn't going to kill him, then the BOS would. They knew where he was.

He edged away from the radroach and knocked into a pile of rubble, which fell with a clatter, making yet more noise. He felt his adrenaline surge and started panicking even more.

He could hear the Brotherhood run towards them. And John, crap. He was going to die. John was looking at him with an unreadable expression. 

They were dead. They were going to die. There was no doubt about it.

He looked at John with wide eyes as John crushed the bug and stared at him. “Now what, genius?” His voice had gained a slight growl. "The evil bug is dead."

“Goodneighbor," Washington panted out, trying to catch his breath. “Goodneighbor. You're faster.  Run back and I'll meet you there.”

“You know they want you dead as well, right?” John spoke. "We'd be better together in defence."

“And? I'll just give us away again, if there's more," Washington repressed a shudder. "Bugs. There are lives at stake here. Just go, John, and don't do anything stupid." He nodded at John when he paused. "Go.”

John stared at Washington with wide eyes. "Right. Don't die, brother.” John ran off with those parting words, leaving Washington to plan.

Washington pulled a plasma grenade from his pack and looked at the approaching Brotherhood soldiers. He looped the pin between his fingers before pulling it and throwing the grenade towards them. He wished he had had an electrical grenade. They worked better against power armour. But a plasma grenade, the one he had thrown, might at least damage some of the platings.

He didn't expect it to kill them, but if it slowed them down, it was better than nothing. He heard the familiar thrum of the grenade exploding behind him. Just give them some time, that was all the grenade needed to do. 

Washington ran back to Goodneighbor picking a less direct and winding route. If they could just get a warning.

What Washington didn't expect, however, was a simultaneous attack to be taking place on Goodneighbor at the same time. And when he arrived, all he could see was...

Fire.

He was greeted by fire. The statehouse, everything. The cold metallic click of power armour, reflecting the oranges and looking otherworldly. The wood twisted, crackled, and fell.

Washington clicked on his Minutemen radio. “This is the General," He spoke. "Goodneighbor has fallen to the Brotherhood.” He spoke clearly, knowing the radio would broadcast him from the recording. “Take the Brotherhood as hostile but do not attack. For this action, they are our enemy.”

Washington clicked off his radio and turned to stare at the soldiers. “Who wants a war with the Minutemen, then?” he laughed, high pitched, demented towards any soldiers that dared listen. “‘Cause that's what you've got. That's what you've won.”

Washington took out his laser pistol and charged at the nearest soldier, not caring what injuries he sustained himself. They'd come and made war. And he would be damned if he wasn't going to make war back. 

Washington ran through the ruins, searching through buildings for survivors on the way. He found the burnt and twisted bodies of several people in the Memory Den. Irma, the doctor, Kent. He didn't think anyone had managed to leave here before the slaughter.

Washington made quick work of an idiot soldier who'd stood outside of the Hotel Rexford without his helmet. A knife to the jugular had taken care of him. Washington tasted blood as it covered his face and wiped his mouth in annoyance. He didn't like the taste of blood.

He'd found survivors in the Hotel Rexford. Not yet found by the BOS, they had been sheltering behind a bed. They'd come out to his voice, recognising him as the General. 

A ghoul in a trench coat had been left with stab wounds from the BOS and limped in the hands of the ghoul who ran the establishment. Another woman had been found as Washington tried to leave, huddled inside a wardrobe.

He offered them a stimpak each and he snuckk them carefully over to The Third Rail. There was an escape tunnel in the ruins, connecting to the old subway and Boston Library.

Washington met the Paladin of the group. He could follow.

He partook in a quick fight with the Paladin. He knew he was going to lose. The Paladin was in power armour and he was in combat.

His gun clicked, empty and out of ammo, inevitably.

He edged back away and found himself lifted against the wall by the Paladin. He couldn't breathe and he felt his throat crushed under the force of the power armour fist.

The Paladin took out a knife and placed it flush against Washington's jaw. “I'll have fun killing you,” he muttered. He drew a drop of blood from Washington before he was steamrolled by another suit of power armour.

X-01. Blue and red. Atom Cat. Harley.

Washington smiled as he regained his breath. Harley and the Paladin fought hand- to-hand before Harley gained the upper hand and managed to rip out the Paladin’s fusion core.

Washington limped away, back towards The Third Rail. He noted blood tracking down the stairs and a few dead bodies.

He hadn't seen John yet. He was both thankful and nervous. He wouldn't have sent John alone if he'd have realised it was too late. What if he was dead?

Washington followed the tunnel down, seeing more blood and a few people who'd sustained injuries too great to make the journey, dead. So much death. He was sure this sight would break John.

Feeling his injuries catch up with him, Washington slowed and fell against the wall, pained. He saw gore bags piled up and rotting. He guessed - he guessed this tunnel had been cleared of mutants beforehand. He hoped it had. He didn't have the energy to fight. 

Washington rooted through his pockets and found some Med-X and Buffjet. He hated using the chems, but he had nothing else to keep him walking. He just needed to see everyone was alive.

Limping, he continued. He saw the doorway to the library in sight and he felt his vision fade. Dizziness overtook him. He couldn't stop now and yet, at the very sight of success, he promptly passed out.

He woke up to feel of warm hands, ghoul hands. He thought they were passing needles through his skin, but why? He opened his eyes. John was there. He could hear his voice talking. He sounded distressed. He saw Daisy in front of him, concentrating on something. On his body, right? He was injured.

His brain took a while to catch up and he tried to call over to John but found his throat to be in agony. It was crushed, right. He remembered. He moved his hand to touch his throat. It was painful, even to the touch.

Daisy told him to hold still and he nodded. He wasn't going to trust his voice. At least John was alright. Against his will, his eyes closed and he drifted back unconscious.  

Everyone was safe. He could die now.


	15. Semi-Automatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is old work. However, it does add to the narrative, despite being from Sturges's POV.

The news that Preston was a synth had broken him, hard. He hadn't been the same from the moment he was reactivated in the Memory Den. He looked up with wide eyes and panicked. He couldn't even look Sturges in the eyes, hurt by the betrayal he thought he felt.

Sturges had known, of course, that he was a synth himself. The moment the Institute had shown up at the Castle to discuss the return of "property" in order for peace with the General, he'd known he was done for. 

They wouldn't just let a synth stay free. Happy. They'd wipe them and all of their memories, and then he'd have forgotten. Forgotten Quincy. Not that he was affected by the grief as much as some people from that massacre. Not as much as Preston.

He had heard the Institute make the demand, knew his time was numbered, and clung tight to Preston’s wrist. Just waiting. The man was his best friend. It was right that he would be the last thing that he remembered. Maybe something would remain.

He didn't want to go, damn it. He had so many things to do, so many reasons to live. 

He remembered how Preston’s eyes had widened as Sturges had grabbed his wrist, not used to seeing the mechanic worked up about anything. How he'd turned towards Sturges seconds later, betrayal marring his features as they proclaimed he was a synth, followed by shock and even anger as they'd told him what he was.

Preston had argued and the Institute had used his recall code to prove a point. Preston was a synth. They all were. The institute could take them all just like that, and the 'demand' was more of a show of power and of the might of the Institute compared to the Minutemen.

Preston’s frame fell, a deadweight against Sturges. Sturges' anger against the Institute flared in response. He wasn't going down without a fight, even if that fight would be for ten seconds.

He'd promised Preston he'd die for him, for the Minutemen, on the way back from Quincy. When all hope had been lost and Preston had told him to leave, he'd stayed and promised. He deserved nothing if he was going to change his mind now.

Sturges had pulled a gun at the same time as the General, Washington, followed by one of the other synths, Fahrenheit, several of the Minutemen, a few refugees from Goodneighbor, and even John Hancock. He'd laughed, hollow.

Why did the Minutemen even care so much? Didn't they know the Institute would win?

The Castle would be left as a big hole in the ground, or in flames, like what the BOS had done to Goodneighbor.

He heard General Washington growl at the leader of the Institute. "That is a **_direct assault_ ** against the Minutemen. And our men. You can't have your property." Harsh and scratchy. The General's body was coiled up like a snake waiting to strike. "I'd leave now," Washington continued. "Unless you want a powerful enemy."

"A mere return of our property is all we ask for," the Director had replied, matter-of-factly. “In return for peace and helping your little quarrel with the Brotherhood of Steel, it's not too much to ask. Do you really wish for two enemies, General? Our might is mightier than yours." Sturges cringed. The Director made it seem reasonable. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

Sturges was scared of the Institute for the first time in a long time, and the Minutemen in the first time in forever.

"Nobody in this Castle is your property." Washington continued to growl, casting a massive presence across the courtyard. “No one in the damn Commonwealth is your property," he said firmly. Sturges noticed the Director flinch.

"We _made_ them so we own them,  _ **g**_ ** _houl_**."

Sturges smiled smugly at the insult. He was confident, with that one careless word,  _ghoul,_  the Institute had lost all hope of negotiating.

He saw Washington rise to his full height as the Director continued. “Not that you'd understand, harbouring synths without knowing."

"The Children of Atom made me, you know. They made me a **_ghoul_**.” Bitterness swept into General Washington’s voice as he growled. “Doesn't mean they own me.” Washington smiled, slowly, smugly, sweetly, dangerously. “I am more than what I am."

The Director stayed smug, not realising his mistake, thinking he was still on top. “Of course, General, but a ghoul and a synth are worlds apart. Give them back to us. Give them back home. They'd be happier and safe."

Sturges broke into the conversation suddenly, white-hot fury running through his veins. "No, we wouldn't." He spoke calmly, despite the anger within him.

‘What was that, synth?’ the Director responded, shocked.

‘We would not be,” Sturges had continued, confidence growing. “Magnolia couldn't sing in the Institute, despite having the best voice in the Commonwealth. Fahrenheit couldn't do whatever the hell she likes in the Institute. I couldn't fix things. And Preston. If Preston would have stayed 'home', as you call it, everyone in Quincy would have died. It's a fact. Not that you'd care, would you? All hidden underground. Cowards."

He'd felt smug about that, an insult in the face of death. An insult to the masters who had once owned him. The Institute didn't - couldn't - know the surface, hiding like mole rats underground, thriving through fear. Pathetic.

The Director's face had morphed to fury at the comment. ‘We are not cowards. You will be destroyed for your disobedience, synth, when you return."

"For the truth. I'd rather know that then spend eternity enslaved to you."

Sturges heard the first few digits of his recall code. "S8-62, initiate-" 

* * *

 

Sturges had been told that the Minutemen had fought off Coursers and the Director. The Institute had run, currently not a threat, although patrols at the Castle had been increased to indicate the contrary.  

Sturges had been reactivated with Preston at the Memory Den. He'd seen some of the Minutemen walk around in the clothes of the deactivated Coursers, the leather high quality and warm, too nice to waste. He didn't blame them. It was a show of victory.

The Institute bastards had it coming with the harsh emotionless Courses who now lay dead.

Sturges watched Preston ghost around the castle, broken, under the weight of knowing. 

He had not taken the news that he was a synth well, not well at all. Preston walked around on autopilot, quiet, broken. Sturges would give anything to see him smile, to see him be normal. Preston should be happy, Sturges thought, his smile reaching to his eyes. Not this. Preston, who was too innocent for the world. Preston not eating, drinking, functioning. Starving.

This is how Sturges found himself climbing up the stairs to the walls of the Castle, food and Nuka-Cola for both of them, determined to try to make Preston do something other than stare with disinterested eyes into nothingness. 

Sturges placed a light hand upon Preston’s shoulder, wincing as he startled him.

"Oh, hey Sturges. I didn't see you there," Preston said softly, turning briefly to acknowledge Sturges before resuming his staring off into the distance.

“One day, long ago, there would have been ships out there. Great containers and ships of war. Ships full of people looking for a new life, hopeful for the future.’ Preston hugged his musket closer towards his chest, talking like he was reciting from a history book. “Look what we did with that future, Sturges.” He laughed bitterly. “Fear. We made fear. We made war. What even am I, Sturges? A mockery? Made to put fear in others?”

“No, Preston,” Sturges muttered darkly. “You're helping others, or at least, you are when you're not sulking on the roof. As pretty as this view is, though.” Sturges contemplated.

“I'm not sulking, I’m thinking.” Preston looked to Sturges. 

“I was never much into that sort of thing. My father always says-"

"You don't have a father, Sturges." Preston frowned. 

"The meaning stands. I'd rather live life a day at a time,” Sturges commented, trying to lighten the mood.

“I'm not hungry,” Preston said, eyes darting away from Sturges and back towards the sea on the horizon, trying to evade him.

“Liar,” Sturges commented simply. “I know for a fact you haven't eaten today. I was watching you."

“I'm not hungry,” Preston replied, not even bothering to argue about Sturges watching him.

“Damn it, Preston,” Sturges snapped, unusual irritation marring his face. “I know you've got it in your head we don't need to eat but damn it, we do. Don't shut down on me, okay, Preston? Why won't you eat?”

“I don't deserve it," Preston whimpered, catching Sturges' look of disapproval. He glared at him, raising his voice. “I'm not even real, Sturges. I don't deserve it.”

“You're as real as I am,” Sturges replied quickly. “Eat, drink, do something… Preston.” He sighed. “Preston, I don't want to see you wasting away on me.”

“I'm not going to ‘waste away’, I'm a synth! I don't need it. What am I going to do, die?” Sturges decided that the bitter laugh didn't suit Preston’s handsome visage. It twisted it, turning it to something foreign and disturbing.

"You will die," Sturges spoke plainly.

“You can remember the Institute, Sturges. You are who you are, more so than me, a mockery that I am.” Preston laughed, bitterly.

“You're not a mockery!” Sturges took a steady breath to calm himself before placing a hand on Preston’s shoulder. “Preston, get it through your thick skull. You are real.”

Preston sobered. “There's a real Preston Garvey somewhere, you know.” He looked back to the sea. “There has to be. Everything is so - real.” He looked back to Sturges. “You can't make this up. Who am I to steal his life? I could just - I could just - I could just be careless. It wouldn't take long. A stray bullet and the mockery would be dead.” His eyes stared down towards the gun on his chest as he began to fidget with the various parts making up the barrel absentmindedly.

“You don't know that,” Sturges replied confidently.

“I don't know what, Sturges?” Preston continued, staring down at his gun.

“Those memories might not be real,” Sturges said firmly and calmly before softening his voice. “Look, Preston, I'm gonna be honest. It's not like it matters if you were another man before. Your actions define you, not the memories the Railroad or the Institute installed in you. You are a legacy, a force to be reckoned with. General Washington might even make you SIC one day. You're gonna be around as long as him, I'd hope. Maybe longer. It's how we should advertise synths. Immortality but pretty and no chance of going feral."

Sturges saw Preston shoot a thinly veiled smile at him. “You've saved a lot of people and as long as you keep that up, as long as you don't give up, I'll be happy to stand by your side. We've got forever as far as anyone knows.”

“Thanks, Sturges.” Preston’s face flushed with slight embarrassment before a small smile flashed across it. “That means a lot coming from someone like you.”

Sturges smiled back at him, glad to see some of his friend’s good nature had returned. He smiled, knowing that Preston had taken some of his words to heart. He smiled, knowing that he'd found someone who he wasn't going to outlive. A project, someone to fix and help.

“So, Preston”, Sturges paused, feeling the last rays of the sun filter across his face. “How about that Nuka now?”.

Preston laughed as the sun set, silhouetting them against the orange Commonwealth sky. “To the Minutemen!” he toasted. "To life."


	16. Never Need to Apologise, We Already Know we're Far from Perfect.

Washington watched John, enraptured by him as he removed his coat in front of him. The thing never ceased to amaze him, made up of layers of fabric, a thing of true beauty. He looked up at John and watched the material of his undershirt move, hiding lean muscles he knew lay underneath.  

He watched his lover carefully fold up his coat, treating it like a gift of God, and to him, maybe it was. He couldn't stop the giggle that escaped him as he watched John carefully stroke the creases out of his coat.

John turned around. “Are we enjoying the show, love?” he asked, mirth carried in his tone. He dropped his voice as he removed his shirt. “‘Cause there's more where that came from."

Washington stuttered at him as John laughed. “You're too pure.” His voice was high, light. “I'm not too sure if you'd want me to taint that yet.”

“I'm not as pure as you think I am,” Washington looked up at him. “I'm not innocent.” John looked at him disbelievingly.

“Yeah, right,” John started. “And I'm not a chem addict.” He sat on Washington's lap and looped his arms around him so that he could clasp them against each other. “Unless it's an invitation.”

Washington looked at him, considering for a moment. He dropped his voice, adding more of a husky tone to it. “Yes,” he began. 

He didn't get chance to think before John kissed him, hard. Washington was taken aback. The kiss was unlike anything he had experienced before. Sharp, electric. His kiss tasted of berries and grapes and other sweet things and Washington was enraptured once again by it. Washington found himself pushed back gently as John ended the kiss. “So,” John looked at Washington as he lay breathless under him. “Do you still want more?” Washington nodded, too breathless to speak. John looked at him in concern. “I'm shocked. You sure?” Washington nodded again in agreement.

John moved slowly, confidently, waffling as he began to unbutton Washington's shirt. He told him he was beautiful and Washington laughed at him in a self-deprecating Washington way, telling him he must be blind. John placed chaste kisses, running from the nape of Washington's chest, down to his navel. Washington was even more beautiful shirtless, he thought. Well-defined muscles gave him a solid form and the ghoulism didn't detract from the impressiveness of his body as it followed the path the muscles made. He was beautiful.

Washington had his eyes closed, enjoying the euphoria his lover created, the chemless high, until he touched his skin.

Suddenly, it wasn't John above him. It was a stranger demanding him to lie still like a pretty boy. It wasn't John whispering sweet nothings at him. It was a stranger demanding he worked faster, harder.

He screamed internally. He didn't want to remember this again. He wanted to show John that he loved him. He wanted to make him feel good. Washington tried to bring his thoughts back to the present and had to beg John to stop, feeling nothing but guilt as he heard him sigh in mild disappointment. John hugged Washington as Washington sobbed against him. "It's gonna be alright.” John‘s voice had lost all lust and gained concern.

John looked at Washington. “Are you gonna tell me or should I guess what's wrong?"

Washington shook his head, curling in on himself. He wanted the thoughts to stop. John continued. “'Cause I've gotta say, I've never had anyone do that on me.”

Washington calmed his breathing. “Sorry, I just... I just remembered something I didn't want to.”

John made a hum of agreement waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn't, he prompted him. “And what was this ‘thing’, love?”

Washington looked at him with a long look of sorrow, fidgeting with his hands slightly. “It doesn't matter. I thought I was over it. Guess I was wrong.”

“Over what, love?” John asked slowly, not knowing if he'd like the answer.  

“Nothing!’’ Washington snapped. John flinched slightly, causing Washington to calm. “I just don't like being touched.” Washington angrily buttoned his shirt back up.

John looked at him, defeated. “You won't tell me. Great. Do you want me to leave? Do I offend you that much?” his last words carried a challenge. “It's cause I'm a ghoul, isn't it? You don't like ghouls. And you've just realised you've stuck yourself with one,” he growled. “Go on, find yourself some pretty smoothskin. I'll be waiting.”

Washington looked at him for at loss of words. “No," he said plainly.

“No. Have you lost the ability to elaborate? I'm sure there's a brothel somewhere around here that'd love someone like you.”

Washington retorted immediately. “From my experience, brothels tend to like the drugged and willing type.”

They glared at each other, both hurt and angry. “Is that a dig, brother?” John spoke first. “Do I actually offend you that much?”.

Washington groaned. “No.”

“Care to explain what you meant by that then, brother?" John clenched his hands in silent anger. “Or was it just a slip of the tongue about whatever’s bothering you?” His black eyes reflected cold defiance.

“No. Neither.” Washington raced through options of what to say in his head. “Trust me.” He gently twisted John's head up too look at him. “Please”. The word hung in the air, silent and begging for forgiveness.

“Fine,” John replied eventually, disgruntled. “I don't know why I need to, but I trust you.” 

Washington smiled softly. “Thank you.”

“I do want to know, though,” John followed up with. "People don't just break down like that.” Washington sent him a wide-eyed look. “You don't need to tell me now, love. I just want to know. I don't want something coming between us.”

Washington glared at something only he could see. “It won't, even if I have to ask Irma to remove all of my memories for it.”

John laughed. “I think that's a bit extreme. Surely no past lover could be  _that_ bad.”

Washington hmmed in agreement. “It depends.” He hugged John and closed his eyes. “I am sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with me.” He laughed bitterly. “I'm broken”.

John muttered sleepily next to him, closing his eyes. “It's fine. Really. You're not broken, just unique.”

Washington let the silence hang till John fell asleep next to him. There was nothing to say. Not really. The ghoul sighed. He was more broken than anyone knew.

 


	17. Little Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Talks - Of Monsters and Men

John shivered and pulled himself closer into his boyfriend's chest. He'd never been able to deal with the cold after becoming a ghoul. It was a unique benefit of the experience.

Washington was glaring at something on the ceiling. A first glance would think him asleep but, as the General often did, he was staring at nothing in particular and probably thinking along the same lines.

“You know,” John paused, waiting till Washington looked at him. “You know, if we invited Far up here, it would be even warmer." John smirked as Washington frowned in disgust.

“It's not even that cold,” Washington muttered as he looked at John. “Do you think about anything else but getting people in our bed?”

“No,” John laughed, beside himself. He'd been going out with Washington for little more than eight months, but he already knew what buttons to press to get the right reaction. “If you got me warm, I wouldn't have to try that.” John threw his arm around Washington's back and pulled himself flush against him.

“Or, you know, I could just get you a hot water-”

“You're better than that.” John smiled and bit his lip. “My hot water bottle."


	18. I've Been Waiting so Patiently for you to Snap Out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snap Out of it - Arctic Monkeys

“John. Stop. Please.” John ignored Washington, continuing with the affection that he was giving him, refusing to move off him. This was the sixth or so time that they'd got to the point where John was just starting to enjoy himself and then Washington made him stop. He was being beyond a tease and it was more than unfair.

“John.” John heard the slight tremble in Washington's voice. What was even up with him? He was clearly as aroused as John, even if he now looked like he wanted to burst into tears.  

John growled and pulled himself off Washington's chest. He glared at him. “And what's your excuse now?” he spat out. “Did you just change your mind again?” he pulled himself off Washington completely and leant his head back against the headrest, fidgeting from arousal. He liked Washington enough, but God, could he be irritating.

“Yes.” Washington bit out before looking accusingly at John. “It's my right.”

“And it's my right to sleep with you.” John knew he was being whiny, but he was completely frustrated. He had no idea why Washington went cold on him. John itched his legs again in discomfort. “Four months,” he bit out. “You've been doing this crap for four months.” It was a long time to go without, in John's opinion. He'd spent few nights alone since he'd become mayor. He'd be shagging random floozies and anyone who was interested in him when he wasn't pre-occupied. He wasn't sure how well he was coping with the change to nothing. He itched. He knew he was getting tempted to cheat. With how much he liked Washington, he knew it'd be a decision he'd regret.

Washington frowned and lightly scratched the palm of his hand anxiously. “To an extent. I'm sorry. Just give me time.”

“You've had time,” John snapped. “I didn't mind the first few times. I didn't care. I know you. I thought you were just anxious - self-conscious. Not well-practised. Yet time over time, you lead me on, brother, and it ain't fair on me. If you don't want me in that way, that's fair, I guess. But tell me. Be honest with me. At least then I can think about what I value more, or else you're going to force my hand to take out my frustrations elsewhere.” John lifted his head up and laughed bitterly. “And that's something I'd rather not do.”

“Sorry.” Washington closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “I'll fix it.”

“See, you might say that, but I don't believe you.” John smoothed the ruffles in his coat. “You have some issue, brother.” He studied Washington intently, trying to gauge if he'd tell him or not. “Tell me what it is.”

“F**k no,” Washington answered immediately. John noted the rare use of swear words in his dialect and knew that he was right. There was something bugging Washington.

“Tell me.” John made his voice stronger and more growly.

“No.” Washington matched his own pitch. John had struck a nerve.

“Why on earth not, sunshine?” John couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice, angry. What could Washington not want to tell him? “You keep on going on about not being a virgin when I try to excuse your behaviour on that. Do you want to admit you were lying?”

“I'm not lying.” Washington crossed his arms angrily.

“What, then?” John resisted the urge to wave his arms around like a madman. “Do I pallor to your past experiences or something? Look less pretty?”

“No.” Washington frowned at him.

“You prefer girls, then? Am I the first man you've slept with? I promise you it ain't-”

“I know, John.” Washington cut him off. “I've slept with both genders.”

“You don't act like it,” John muttered. “Am I just really that unattractive to you? Physically?”

“No, John.” Washington sighed. “You're beautiful.” He tried to pull John into a short kiss, but John pushed him off.

“Well, then act like it!” John was angry again. How could he have slept with what he claimed to and act as he did? “Sleep with me. Show me. Show me the good times you've shown so many other people.”

“Fine. How much are going to pay me, then?” Washington's voice was sarcastic.

“You better be kidding me,” John muttered. “You're not some whore.”

“Really? Well, if you want me to sleep with you as I've slept with others, you're missing the drugs, the alcohol, the cage.” Washington shuddered lightly. “Thought you liked me more than just a ‘good time’.”

“Talk sense, Washington. You're the son of the General of the Minutemen. You've never had anything really bad happen to you. You don't know what it's like to suffer or anything. You're spoilt, entitled, and way too sheltered.”

“Wrong on two accounts there, John.” Washington smiled in a way that John couldn't place. Almost sadistically. “I was, for lack of a better word, sexually abused and assaulted when I was a young teen. For a period of at least two years. Not that you've been told that, John. I'm just sheltered to you.”

“Who?” John growled out.

“My mother. Some of her friends. And then anyone with caps in their pocket. Fun times.” Washington smiled, looking at only something he could see. “I'm sorry my trauma disappoints you.”

John growled, long and drawn out. “I'm going to kill her. There was me thinking she was actually an alright person. I'll hunt her down and kill her.”

“Have fun, John. She's dead. Dad killed her.”

Washington looked at John as he stuttered. “Isn't Ronnie your mother? She's very much alive. If you want me to kill her, I will. I ain't scared of her.”

“Don't murder Ronnie.” Washington's voice took an unnaturally high pitch before he looked at John's face and laughed. “She's not my mother. So many people believe it that I can't be bothered to argue it not being true.”

“Oh,” John sat back down. “Strange.” He was at a loss for words. If Ronnie wasn't Washington's mother, who was? He grit his teeth subconsciously. He wanted to dance on their grave.

“I was adopted when I was two by my Dad. Well, less adopted and more found. It’s where the radroaches gave me this scar.” John saw Washington shudder lightly at the thought of it. He repressed a smirk. Washington's fear was still stupid, as justified as it was. “Harley's version of my ‘origins’ is great. Apparently, Ronnie and Dad, had a one night stand somewhere and then had the quote, unquote ‘bad luck’ of conceiving me. They then panicked and Ronnie hid away, came back with me and convinced everyone that Alex ‘found me’. I think anybody would remember Ronnie being pregnant. I don't even want to think about it. Can we not talk about this any more, John? Please? We have better things to do.”


	19. This Could be the Drug that Doesn't Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and Sweet

John had to wonder what Washington liked about him. They'd been together months and still, as he walked close to Washington's side, he wondered. He couldn't take the few steps forward to hold his hand. They were with Harley and Harley didn't know yet. John wondered if he ever was going to know, if anyone was.

John loved Washington. He was cute, kind, had great morals, a great body, a surprisingly good sense of humour. He was smart with his hands and never failed to amaze John with what he could do. He smiled as he put a Mentat in his mouth before grabbing Liberty and Belle’s reigns to follow after Washington and Harley.

Liberty snorted at him before trotting after him and he huffed back at her. She was a cute radstag but somewhat disobedient, unlike Glory and Freedom. They'd follow Washington anywhere. Imprinting. John'd brought Liberty and Belle as nearly fully grown. In hindsight, he should have brought her as a baby, but she was even-tempered enough regardless.


	20. Eyes Wide Shut (Screaming I'm Not Afraid of Loving)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington falls off a tiny bed in the wastes and lands on John. Harley walks in on them.

“So just how long have you two birds been together, then?” Harley looked at them with wide eyes.

“That'd be - that'd be around - around since when the Brotherhood attacked the Castle?” Washington stuttered awkwardly. He scratched at his arm subconsciously. “You know, you weren't supposed to know.”

“I'd gathered that, thanks. Why not?” Harley tapped his foot. “Why do I have to walk in on you two _loving_ to find out?”

“I told you, we weren't.” Washington spoke despairingly, trying to get Harley to believe him.

“No. He wasn't.” John added, “Blushing virgin over there doesn't like that. We-”.

“For the thousandth time, John, I'm not a virgin!” Washington seemed slightly angry and Harley thought it best to diffuse the situation.  

“He's actually not.” John looked at him disbelievingly. “And no, he didn't sleep with this cat, before you ask.”


	21. You Know You Always Get Under My Skin, the World's Tiniest Violin

Washington stood tall and aloof, irritated. John could tell. He'd just had an argument with Harley about his decision to not help a remote settlement by the Glowing Sea, claiming it was too dangerous. Harley said he was going to leave in the morning anyway, saying they could help, that they had enough ghouls in the ranks to not make the radiation levels a problem.

John could tell Washington somewhat agreed with Harley and he wanted to go with him to protect him. But at the same time, he knew Washington was irritated because he couldn't just help Harley without going back on his leadership, and then it wouldn't take long before people started undermining every decision Washington made. That course of action, John knew from experience, usually ended up with said leader dead.

It didn't help Washington's mood with Ronnie yelling at him less than five minutes later and aggressively telling him that he should make the right decisions initially and not let his friends get in the way of his decisions, especially when said friend had made a public spectacle out of it.

John heard Washington sigh as he aggressively typed something on his Pip-Boy. Something about Harley, John could guess.

Deciding that Washington had had enough time to lament on his anger, John moved closer to him. Waiting for him to finish typing, he leaned up on the tip of his feet and hugged Washington, holding onto him by the neck. He kissed him chastely on the side of his face, the kisses trailing down as he struggled to keep his head high enough.

Washington didn't seem too interested in him, John realised. He was probably lucky he didn't get growled at as Washington immediately returned to typing, sitting down on one of the settees by the wall to continue. John decided he might as well lie across his lap till he was done.

Gold jumped up, wagging his tail, and lay across John's lap like a deadweight. He tried nudging Washington for attention but remained confused when he refused to play with him. Gold looked at John and whined before licking John's face. John laughed. At least the dog liked him, even if Washington was distracted by his own business.

He fell asleep with the dog. Washington wouldn't be able to move without waking him up, John thought. At least then he could come with Washington if he did decide to go after Harley. Washington was unpredictable and John didn't always trust him to tell him when he was going to risk his life. If they go down, John thought, they should go down together.

Harley knocked calmly at the door to the General's quarters. It had occurred to him upon calming down that perhaps that he should listen to Washington before storming off in a sulk. Although he hated to admit it, Washington did have a good point, maybe. Sometimes.  

He heard Washington's unmistakable heavy voice telling him “Come in”. Harley sighed before pushing the door open. He didn't like apologising much. It was embarrassing.

“Oh, Harley.” Washington seemed surprised by him. “I wasn't expecting you. I thought you'd be gone.”

“No," Harley mumbled. He noticed John and Gold lying across Washington's lap, asleep. “Were you asleep?” Harley asked. “I can go,” he added quickly, swinging his hands, hoping Washington would give him a convenient excuse to leave.

“No.” Washington leaned forward. “What do you need, Harley? Because I am not willing to back down, if it's what I think. It is dangerous. It's harsh, but it's two settlers at the edge of the Glowing Sea with a super mutant problem. We are going to lose more people-”

“That's not what I-” Harley was cut off.

“If you want a compromise, we can escort them to a safer settlement. But I'm not risking my men. Not for that.”

Harley sighed. “Look,” he stuttered and stepped closer to Washington. “I want to apologise to you. As your SIC I should have discussed it with you in private, rather than publicly undermining you.”

Washington nodded. “Yes, you should have."

“And I do agree that an escort would be the wisest course of action. I wasn't thinking.”

“No, Harley, you were not.” Washington spoke firmly. “When I die, you need to be a good leader. Follow your head, not your heart, or else it's going to bleed longer.” He brushed his hands against John's torso. He looked at him with eyes of love. “It took me a while to understand.”

Harley stood, not sure what to say. He rocked on his feet slightly.

“So,” Washington lightened up, changing tone. “What are we going to do with that escort, then?”


	22. Are You Drunker Now? Not to Judge What I'm Doing

Washington laughed as a giggling John lay against his side in The Third Rail. “Lightweight,’ Washington commented lightly.

“Izz nots,” John slurred back to him. “I could - I could drinkss more.”

“Yeah, no.” Washington glared at him. “You're wasted enough. Come here.”

John smiled and moved closer to Washington’s side, nestling up against him. 

Washington sighed. “You're going to have a hangover in the morning. And I'm gonna have to deal with you.”

“True, brother.” John giggled. “Maybe before that we can…”

“If that statement ends how I think it's going to - No.”

“But-”

“No.”

“Love?”

“I told you, no.” John sighed as Washington wrapped his arm around John. “You're drunk.”

“So… I won't care.”

“I would. Rape is rape, John.” Washington frowned. "I wouldn't like it done the other way around.”

“I know,” John frowned. “Sorry.”

John's good mood seemed to evaporate as he thought about it. Washington decided to change the subject.

“You've only had, like, one bottle, John. How are you this drunk?” Washington smiled. “You're beyond a lightweight.”

“Izz nots. I tolds youzz.” John smiled. “I could drinkss as much as you.”

“Considering I'm on my third bottle with barely a buzz, I doubt that. I know you. You'll poison yourself.”

John laughed. “I won't.” He went to reach for another bottle.

“No, John. How am I the mature one here? I'm the alcoholic.”

“Yess?” John looked questioningly at him. “And?”

Washington quickly downed the rest of his beer then picked John up to carry him upstairs in a bridal hold.

“Don't you wantzz to drink more?” John looked as close to concerned as he could in his drunken state. "I don't wants to ruin-”

“Yes." Washington cut him off. "However-”

“Sorry,” John curled up slightly on himself.

“Hey. Look at me.” John turned his head up to look at him. “You're more important.”

“But…”

“If I was that desperate, there's more alcohol back in our room, okay, John?”

John nodded and fell to sleep in his arms as he walked. Washington hoped nobody expected him to explain why he was carrying the unconscious mayor across town. Everyone knew they were together anyway. Married.

He turned to walk up to his and John's room to receive a funny look from Daisy as he walked past her. “He's drunk,” he offered as a way of explanation. Daisy just shook her head in response, none too surprised.

He walked up the last set of stairs and placed John down on their bed. He'd thrown up enough times drunk to know it wasn't pleasant to throw up in that state. He expected John would if he woke up.

Washington dumped his armour on the floor and then lay next to John, ensuring John stayed lying on his side, just in case he threw up. He could see the headline already. The great mayor killed by his own vomit. 

He wasn't sure whether to remove John's coat or leave it. He decided to leave it. It wasn't like he was sleeping on the floor. It wasn't going to get that messed up and Washington didn't fancy waking John up for a trivial matter.

He stayed like that for a few hours, drifting, ensuring that John wasn't suffering.

John woke up with an aching head and painful eyes. “Love, did you see the brand on the brahmin that stamped my head last night?”

He heard Washington laugh from across the room up before him as always. “Lightweight,” Washington commented. 

“I'm not. I told you.” John moved his head up to look at him before clutching it in pain. "My beautiful head". John's hair fell into his eyes as he tilted his head forward.

Washington laughed again. “I'm sure lightweight counts as getting a hangover after one beer.”

“Shut up,” John muttered.

Washington rooted through his pack, pulling out a needle of Med-X. “Arm” Washington spoke clearly. John lifted up his arm, pulling back his sleeves. He stared at the red material in confusion. “Why did I go to sleep in my coat?”

“Because I didn't want to wake you up. I thought it wouldn't hurt. Come on.” John rolled his eyes. “Really,” Washington muttered sarcastically.

Washington ran his fingers up John's wrist, trying to find an non-mangled vein. “Your arms are a right mess, you know.” John nodded.

Washington traced down from an area of dead skin which he knew was the injection site from where John had ghouled himself until he found a vein in a suitable area. He injected a small amount of the drug before he took the needle out and placed it to one side to wash off.  

“You could just give me all of it.” John looked at Washington, disappointed. "Being high would help." 

“No.” Washington frowned. “Is the headache easing?”

John nodded.

“Good,” Washington spoke before heading back across the room towards the fridge.

“You should eat. Anything greasy is great for a hangover.”

John shook his head.

“You sure. I can get it for you. Anything you want.” Washington proceeded to look through the cupboards for anything suitable.

“I'm not hungry.” Washington frowned at John.

John mumbled something at him from across the room. Washington walked back over, only to get John tugging at his arm. “What are you going to do this morning anyway?” John mumbled.  “Come to bed.”

"Afternoon." 

"Today, then," John spoke. "Trust me, the world will wake." 

"Washington," John called. "Bed."

“You're insistent, I swear, John." Washington paused, "You sure you don’t want to eat?”

John shook his head. “Fine.” Washington lay down next to John and then loaded a game into his Pip-Boy. John glared angrily at the light 

“You said to come to bed. You never said to sleep,” Washington responded. " Unless you want me to go." 

John shook his head.

Washington focused intently on his Pip-Boy as he heard John go to sleep next to him. He still felt a craving at the back of his head for alcohol, to get truly wasted, but he knew he'd done the right thing.

John was more important than anything to him. Anything at all.


	23. You Get Me Out of My Head, You Fill the Space in My Bed

It was a hot day in Goodneighbor and John was not going to move. The sun filtered down onto his bed, warming his back as he lay stretched out. It was days like this when he understood why the ferals lay down and refused to move. As content as he was, he knew what could make it better. 

He opened his half-lidded eyes to see Washington working on some "urgent" report he'd refused to leave behind. He knew for a fact that it could wait, something that he could help with later. It was a supply line or something stupid. Nothing vital. Nothing important.

“Washington." He called the name softly. Washington spun around on the chair to face him, electric blue eyes reflecting off the sunlight, pretty as ever. “Come to bed, love,” he cooed. He saw Washington pause to think, head moving slightly as he considered.  John was shocked to realise his love had his sleeves rolled back and his coat off. Washington had changed his usual arm length gloves for some that cut off at the wrist. Still leather, but they allowed a few inches of radiation torn skin to be viewed. It was so unusual. It must be warm. John prompted him again. “It's too warm to be working. Come to bed.”

“It's 12pm” was the dull reply.

“And?” John reached his arm out towards Washington. “It's warm. Come to bed.”

Washington flicked his eyes between the report and John, losing the internal battle as he moved back to lie next to John, taking the report with him. “You work too much, brother,” John mumbled against him as he wrapped his arms around Washington, clinging to him. He was content as he dozed off next to him. Washington felt as good as the drugs most of the time. He still couldn't understand how he'd got him, but he loved him and that was all that mattered. He felt Washington's breathing level beside him. He loved him and he'd love him forever.


	24. I Can't Do Golden Rings, But I'll Promise You Everything

Washington leant down and pulled John towards him. He locked his lips with John and kissed him hard. He ran his hands down the back of John's spine, trying to keep him close to him.

John paused, stuck breathless and surprised as Washington took the weight off his feet for him. It took him a few moments before he responded. It was unlike Washington to be so forward, but he wasn't going to complain.  

It'd been a while since he'd seen him. He'd been stuck sorting out some nonsense in Goodneighbor and Washington had just been busy. John smiled. If this is how he was going to be welcomed home, he wasn't going to complain.

Washington fell backwards onto his bed, bringing John down with him. He ended the kiss, muttering “I missed you”. He closed his eyes and ran his hands lightly down John's back, familiarising himself with him again.  

John was stuck speechless for a few moments. He was in heaven. It was so unlike Washington to give him so much attention. He smiled. If Washington wanted passion, he'd show him passion.

He braced himself over Washington and kissed him again, dropping against Washington's frame as the kiss became more heated. He left Washington speechless and smiled again. He'd got his own home to come back to now, nothing to run from.

He pulled a canister of Jet from his pocket and inhaled it, feeling his senses return to normal. He fell back against Washington, lying on top of him, feeling full, contented and relaxed. He grinned lazily.

“I marry you,” John mumbled lazily into Washington’s chest. “I marry you. Now and forever.”

Washington looked up at him, disbelievingly. “You don't know what you're saying. You'll change your mind.” He frowned “You can't want me as much as I want you. I wouldn't.”

“Well, you aren't me, are you?” he slurred slightly. “I decide. I decide I want you. I decide I want you forever, to be mine," John continued firmly, as if making a decision in his mind.

“I don't know what to say.” Washington looked up at John with wide-eyed confusion.

“Nothing,” John replied. “Kiss me again,” he muttered seductively. “Give me what I want.”


	25. Caught Up in the Afterglow

John traced Washington's lips lightly, smiling up at him. He leaned up to kiss him slowly, embracing his body against his own. He felt Washington pull him up slightly, supporting his weight. And John was reminded, once again, why he hated being short.

Regardless, John couldn't have been happier at that moment in time. Washington had just married him. They'd promised themselves to each other. Washington was as good as his now. Not like Washington would sleep around anyway, John knew, but the sentiment was there.

Far had warned him about committing to Washington and told him that he'd probably regret it. He didn't think he would. Others just didn't see Washington the way he did. They didn't see him passionate or happy or anything really. He presented himself at the core as aloof and antisocial, like the damn cat, and he supposed him and Washington would seem incompatible.

Far had also warned him because if Washington turned on him, there'd be no chance in hell he could protect himself. He was too small. He trusted Washington, though. He knew he was better than that.

“Can I pick you up?” He heard Washington ask him. “Sure,” John replied easily.

Washington picked him up and carried him bridal style across the room. John smiled up at him. He had the best husband, he knew.

Washington smiled back. He seemed happy. Unusual for him, John thought. It was rare to see such calm emotions on Washington's face. “You know, I think the dog is heavier than you.” Washington whispered to him. “He's harder to pick up.”

“Shut up,” John muttered back. He crossed his arms as he was placed down by Washington. “It's only 'cause the dog is fat.” 

A look of mock offence crossed Washington's face. “Chubby. Regardless, I can't stop everyone in the Castle feeding him.”

John's face split into a grin. “Even if they did, he'd still get fed 'cause he'd look at you sadly and you'd feed him.”

Washington sat down next to him. “Maybe I should feed you instead.”

“Eww.” John looked at him like he'd lost his last brain cell. “No thank you. You'd ruin my flawless figure.”

“Flawless.” Washington deadpanned.

“Yes." John looked affronted.

Washington traced his hand down John's side, causing John to laugh.  “Which is why I can feel your ribs."

“Yes.” John looked at him like it was obvious. “There's no point eating if I'm not hungry."

Washington frowned at him, causing John to feel slightly guilty for ruining Washington's good mood. “Jet is an appetite suppressant. Do you ever feel hungry?”

“If you ask me to eat, I'll eat. Compromise?”

Washington sighed. “Fine.” He walked across the room and reached for a few mutfruits. “Eat.”

Reluctantly, John took the mutfruit and ate it slowly. “Happy?” he muttered.

“Very,” Washington replied. He kissed John slowly, his kiss tasting sweet like the mutfruit. He traced John's lips, staring into his adorable eyes, the brown retinas barely visible among the more prominent black. “I love you so, so much.”

John smiled back. “I know."

 


	26. There's A Second Voice Inside My Head, It Tells Me to Shut Up and Trust This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anorexia / bulimia trigger.

John had been a chubby child. Not that he'd openly tell anyone. Not even his husband, whose arms he was dozing off in. His slight frame fit well into his husband's side. He was happier being slim. His husband said he was too thin, but he didn't know what he was talking about. He looked better with prominent ribs and a concave stomach. His face was still round. Unfortunate but down to genetics. He always held any weight he had on his face. He hated it. He nestled closer to Washington, shivering slightly. His husband was warm as always and he smiled as he fell asleep.

Being a ghoul was unfortunate in winter. Most ghouls tended to hibernate to stay warm and alive. Even his husband had been known to. He'd receive a wave of complaints for sleeping in, but it's not like anyone could raise the other ghouls in the Castle either. It was dangerous and after a near fatal run one year, Washington refused to send ghouls out on patrol in the snow, admittedly to grumbling about "racism". The thought made John angry. The smoothskins didn't realise how well they'd got it.

John had nightmares about being heavier. It was something he never wanted to be again. He had fears of his husband leaving him. Unfounded but still somehow terrifying. Needless to say, he wasn't the biggest fan of eating. Not at all.

He'd eat if he was promoted to occasionally. It was worth it for the warm smiles he'd get in return. He knew his husband was concerned about his weight, but he didn't really get why. He was fine. Enough. Better than being like his brother.

Washington would eat a lot. In fact, it was sorta rare to not see him eating, although along with that, it was rare not to see him working out. Washington sat at the good end of chubby. It was less fat he carried and more stockiness to add to his muscular body. He was beautiful, lest him tell himself otherwise.

He'd only known Washington gain weight twice in his life, once when he'd been heavily struggling with alcohol dependency and once when he'd broke a bone, miss-set it and then had to fix it again. That was a painful few weeks. Washington wasn't exactly a fan of being locked down to one place and John wasn't exactly going to tell him no when he looked so miserable. Washington had limped back into Goodneighbor with Harley and pretty much immediately passed out. Apparently they'd pissed off Swan and Washington had received a rock to the leg. Regardless, he'd been stuck dealing with a prissy boyfriend for a few weeks and if food was going to make him happy, he wouldn't deny him.

Although he did clarify that weight didn't hurt his figure. He was handsome. His face was always sharp and his eyes warm. Difficult for blue, but somehow, they were. His husband spoke of home, little smiles reserved for him.

His husband was innocence. He'd kiss him and he'd smile. He didn't want or demand anything and in fact had more of an aversion. It was irritating, to be fair, the aversion. John felt they missed out on intimacy, on closeness and affection. His husband was quirky and different and he loved him for it, sure, but sometimes, he wished that they could be a little more physical, a little more intimate. Sometimes, he wondered if Washington found him attractive at all. It wouldn't surprise him at all if the answer was no.

When John was a kid, he'd found comfort in food and then sex and then drugs. He'd never had a healthy relationship with any. It could be blamed on his "addictive personality", he guessed. When he was a kid, as much as he'd laugh at his naivety now, he'd wanted to be like his brother. His brother was ten years older than him and heavyset. Maybe that had subconsciously made him eat more as a kid, or maybe it was just the fact that he was lonely and allowed to eat what he wanted. Regardless, he was a heavy kid. He bet he weighed more as an nine or ten-year-old than he did now. It wouldn't surprise him.

it took him a long time to realise how unhappy he was like that. Heavy. People made jokes about his weight, sure, but he was smart and a bit of a loner. It wasn't like anyone hated him. People liked his brother and he was heavier. He couldn't see the problem. So what if he was slower and less athletic than the other kids? It wasn't like he wanted to do that. He'd rather lay in bed or read. He'd got better things to do. He could keep up with his brother and that was all that mattered.

He remembered the name of the first girl he'd kissed. Well, kissed and been intimate with. He was fifteen and she was around eighteen. She loved baking and ker kisses were sweet with a taste of sugar. Washington's kisses were indescribable in comparison but completely the opposite. They tasted like salt most of the time. Irresistible. Compelling him for more. They’d mix with the sea air Washington was usually found in to paint a picture of journey and adventure. They changed a lot. In turn, his husband changed a lot. Washington said John's kiss was sweet and fruity. It didn't surprise him. All he really ate was Mentats most days. Sometimes fruit and things.

He felt guilty if he ate a lot, almost like he was freeloading, and he really didn't want his weight to change. With how short he was, it wouldn't take a lot, and then he'd be back to being miserable.

Regardless, her name was Poppy and she liked to bake. They had a few months where they'd "fell in love" and they'd got close to each other. It wasn’t love. What he and Washington had was love. Love required effort and love from both sides and some degree of honesty. Not just… taking advantage of someone. It still angered him to think about. She made stuff for him to eat and he'd stick around to eat it. She was heavier than him. She must have been. She complained about not having anyone to share with. John at his younger age was willing. He'd cringe now. The amount of shit he'd shoved in his body. God knows how much he'd gained in those few months. He bet it was a lot.

They'd spent most of their days together, giving her a lot of time to, in other words, feed him up.

He'd clued up to her eventually. She had a thing for bigger people and wanted to feed him. It was gross. He still thought it was. She was like the damn witch feeding up Hansel against his will, but unlike Hansel, John hadn't clued up and gone away.  

It’d taken him way too long to figure it out. Small things clued it into him. It just took longer than he’d have liked. It was things like the way she held him and what she told him. The fact that he was greeted with food and willed into eating it through guilt, even if he didn't want to. It was just off. She should have just told him rather than deceived him into it. He didn't know what he'd have done. Like, as a kid. He recalled it was more the sharp sting of betrayal that got him rather than what she was doing. John didn't like being lied to, not by anyone.

Maybe he'd have agreed. He'd liked her and he couldn't recall caring about his weight before that breakup. He'd have probably enjoyed it for a while, as he did unknowing with the taste of upper stands sweet things that they couldn't afford.

Now, it'd be the other way around. He just couldn't understand her. Still couldn't. In his opinion, skinny set was better, although looking at Washington being on the more heavyset side of things, he did question. Maybe he just liked being smaller himself.

Poppy did, however, start up a new obsession for him. John had to admit he was a weak child, wills-wise, and would find his feet carrying him to her house, craving intimacy. He shook himself out of it most of the time and went home instead. He tried to starve himself to lose weight. If he was thinner, he was sure he could get with anyone and then he wouldn't wonder back to her.

In hindsight, he was glad he hadn't knocked her up or anything. She was from the upper stands and that could only have ended messily, and with him being underage, he'd probably have been labelled a sexual deviant or something daft. Although after he'd started messing around Goodneighbor and conceived his own child with a drifter, he wasn't sure that that title was wrong.

Some part of him was still shocked how content he was in a relationship with Washington, being exclusively stuck with, for lack of a better word, docile partner. To be fair, W had little problem giving him pleasure. He just didn't like reciprocation. He had trauma and a multitude of other issues. He had a certain point where he'd tend to shut off and John wasn't comfortable with it. Some people might have loved that, but it was too off for him. John felt it was unfair to carry on when his partner was uncomfortable.

It wasn't right, but to be honest, if you were asking him to make a choice between Washington and sex, yeah, it was going to be Washington again and again.

When they'd broken up, Poppy had told him that he'd be back. She'd made some hurtful comments about him and everything, something about no one else wanting a lower stands pig. It was probably where some of his issues with his weight had started.

He hadn’t felt comfortable in his own skin for ages afterwards. He got a bit obsessed with trying to cut his weight down, though he struggled a lot. With Poppy, he'd been eating a lot and going to eating nothing was hard. If his parents put anything in front of him, he'd eat it, usually feeling guilty afterwards. He was never going to be thin unless he managed self-control.

She was right, of course. He'd slept with Poppy again. He'd gone home with a full stomach, feeling miserable. She'd been, for a lack of a better word, creepy. She started by insulting him for the weight he'd lost, undoing her hard work, and then fed him till he'd been in pain. She insulted him and made him feel worthless and he'd passed out at hers. She'd tried to feed him more in the morning, but he'd smartly done a runner. That had been the start of it.

He'd thrown up not long after he'd gone home and it'd felt good. A lot of damage had been done while he was asleep, but he’d still got a lot of it out. The calories.

That was how he'd lost a lot of weight in his teens afterwards. Most of what he ate, he brought back up himself. He couldn't digest it then. He felt slightly guilty for wasting food, but he'd only eat to avoid suspicion, or try to. Sometimes, he couldn't resist eating excessively and he'd feel genuinely sick with guilt, and then he'd throw up.

It'd been years since he'd done that, fortunately. He had mastered self-control since then. He didn't fancy trying to explain purging behaviour to Washington. It'd just give him unnecessary concern.

He'd done it a few times in Goodneighbor. Purge. Fortunately, Fahrenheit didn't look further into it than him being an idiot. Once was a genuine session. His new ghoul metabolism had shocked him, with hunger pangs more frequent and painful than he was used to. Another time, he'd been stressed out about some supply thing he couldn't get his head around that needed sorting and completing basically immediately, and he'd sorta lost track of what he was eating. It took a joke from Fahrenheit telling him that he was hibernating for winter leading him to throw up not long after he'd done the thing.

He couldn't remember when the chem thing came in. It was more gradual. He was sure the Mentats were given to him by the school once, "for focus" He'd been too concerned with his weight to pay attention to class. He was sure he was only supposed to have them as a one-off, but he'd felt "slow" when they'd been taken from him. He grew an addiction to them. It was cheap, so it didn't hurt. Certainly cheaper than addictol. It wasn't exactly like he had a steel will or anything.

Jet. He was sure someone had given him a free taste of that somewhere along the lines. It was more expensive than Mentats, sure, but it also lasted longer. It worked out about the same price as Mentats. He'd been sold on it when he realised it was also an appetite suppressant. It just worked for him. His memories went hazy around this point. He remembered going between Goodneighbor and Diamond City a lot, learning the safe routes and discovering the monster in Boston Common.  

He'd swapped a lot of partners here, he was sure. They'd give him chems in return for pleasure and he thought it wasn't a bad trade off. He just had to wait for someone to find him to get what he wanted. His memories were hazy and he couldn't remember any details, too busy being high.

He remembered meeting and becoming friends with Fahrenheit. She was a drifter or something. He couldn't remember exactly what she said. It didn't matter when he'd found out she was a synth. It was weird to think about. He still wouldn't regret saving her from the fire in Goodneighbor, though. She was still his best friend. Well, excluding Washington. But they hadn't stayed that way for much longer after that event. He hadn't wanted to lose him, realised he loved him, courted him, married him. His husband and his life.


	27. If You Can Hear Me Now, I'm Reaching Out, Just to Tell You You're Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington is made a glowing one by the Institute.

Washington trembled, removing his gloves. He looked at his hands. “I'm a monster,” he muttered. He watched the faint pulse of green blood. “I’m a monster.”

“You're alive. That's all that matters. I thought-”

“Look at me!” Washington growled ferociously. "I'm a f**king freak!” John flinched, startled as Washington advanced. He pointed at himself. “Look,” he basically howled. “I'm glowing.”

John looked at him. “Yes, you are. But-”

“I'm a freak,” Washington growled under his breath, irritated at being cut off again. “Look at me”.

John stood up suddenly. “I am. You don't see what I see.”

Washington growled. “How?”

John growled back. “Because I've lost you once. I'd rather not experience it again.”

“But it doesn't matter if I'm a freak.” Washington paused. “I'd be better off dead. You'd cope.”

“I wouldn't,” John muttered darkly.

“You would.” Washington pushed his voice convincingly. “Why wouldn't you?”

John turned away and glanced at his nails. “Well, love, two OD's would like to argue with you. Not that you'd care, like, set on dying as you are.”

“You what?” Washington’s voice turned pale. “Two… When?”

“I thought you didn't care,” John replied smugly. He'd got Washington to listen to him. Great, now he just needed to distract him.

Washington noticed the grin on John's face. "You better not be lying. When?”

“I'm not lying. Not that you'd believe me. You don't believe me when I talk about you, Do you love?” John boasted smugly.

Trembling slightly, Washington looked at John with wet eyes. “That's different. I don't - I don't like who I am. I never have. I never will. Please, damn it, John, tell me, I -” Washington's voice tried gaining assertiveness and failed miserably. He touched his ring lightly. “I can't do it without you as well. I'd give you everything, anything. You want to stay, don't you. Stay alive.”

John took notice in that moment just how vulnerable his husband looked, out of his armour both literally and figuratively. He stood trembling in a ripped T-shirt and jeans, gloveless. His ring shone, catching the light, and he looked at John with wet eyes. He looked small, helpless. It wasn't fair for Washington, really.

“I always want to live, love. It was an accident on both occasions. The first time was Med-X. I wanted to numb the pain. I couldn't handle the thought of living without you.” John's voice was soft.

“I'm sorry, John. I could have-”

John placed his finger to Washington's lips to cut him off. “My fault. The second time was more stupidity. I forgot I'd lost resistance to Jet and took too large of a dose. Daisy said they had a hard time getting me back.”

“Why keep hitting that junk if it killed you?” Washington's voice was pleaful.

“Compulsion. Addiction.” John was dismissive. “It's one of those things now, really. A fact of life. It hasn't killed me yet. To be honest, the first time, I didn't want to come back. I was more scared at the thought of spending eternity without you.”

“God, John.” Washington’s voice gained an unfamiliar keen. He cupped John's cheek. “I love you. I'm so glad you didn't go.” He kissed him softly. “I love you," he muttered. He repeated the gesture. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”


	28. I Could Be Your Painkiller

John walked over, pulled Washington's head down, and kissed him forcefully. He'd show that bitch who he belonged to. He bit down on Washington's lip, not noticing he was drawing blood. He was his, John thought, not that bitch’s.

He didn't notice that Washington didn't respond to him until Washington shoved him off. “The hell was that for?” Washington growled lightly.

Sammy grinned across the room. “Your husband is a bit hands on, isn't he?”

“Yes.” Washington turned around to glare at John. “He is.”

“I'll just go then, shall I?” John turned to leave hastily. He really should have thought his plan through better.

“No, John. After that amazing entrance, I think you should stay.” Washington's voice was pleasant but vaguely threatening. “John walked off slightly slower. "Husband." John turned around slowly. “Come here." John walked back to stand next to Washington. Washington put his hand around John's back and John sighed. He knew he was in for a lecture.

“Now, Sammy, continue.”

Sammy smiled seductively. “Trouble in paradise? I think you should ditch him.” She swung her hips out. “I'm sure someone else would want you.”

Growling, John glared at her. The whore. She had no right. Washington elbowed John, indicating he should shut up. Begrudgingly, he silenced.

John stood there, bored out his mind. Couldn't Washington at least let him sit down while they talked? They weren't even getting anywhere. Sammy was unmovable. She wasn't going to back down. Couldn't Washington just see that? Then he could get rid of her. John couldn't even attempt to worm out of Washington's grip. He'd got him by the small of his back. He felt the time tick by slowly.

By hour two, John was rocking on his feet, craving Jet and completely bored. Washington still had him pinned as well. True, he could just get the drugs out of his pocket and take it, but somehow he didn't think that'd make Washington any less angry at him. Probably more angry instead. Embarrassed. Ashamed. He started scratching at the palms of his hands. God, could they just stop talking?

Washington wrapped up the meeting, telling Sammy to think on what he'd said. He let go of John and turned to look at him. “Explain,” he growled.

John fumbled in his pockets. He just needed the drug, then he could deal with Washington.

“Give.” Washington removed the canister from John's hands, causing him to whine.

“That's unfair,” John complained. “You've made me stand here for hours. Come on, I need it.” Honestly, the only thing stopping John from tackling Washington was the fact that he couldn't possibly win. Washington was, like, twice as big as him.

Washington slipped the drug into his pocket. “You can have it back when you explain what the hell you were up to.” Looking up, John rocked awkwardly, fiddling. “Explain,” Washington prompted.

“I love you.” John glanced up.

“You drew blood. That wasn't love. That was possessive,” Washington continued, glaring. “I don't like it when you act possessive, especially - especially - when I’m working. I have a reputation.”

“Sorry.”

“You should be. Here.” Washington returned the drug before growling in warning. “Don't do that again.”

“Fine.” John muttered and walked off. “Glad I'm appreciated.”

Washington sighed. He had got no idea what had got into John. He'd never done that before. He sighed again as he sat down, his mind wandering down dark tracks as he tasted his own blood. John wouldn't hurt him. Not intentionally. He glared at his papers. Now to try and get some actual work done.  


	29. You and Me are Like Drugs and Candy

Washington clutched his bucket, intently refusing to let go of it as he threw up for the third time in a row. John rubbed firm circles into his back, trying to ensure Washington could still breathe and didn't choke.

John cooed to him as Washington gasped to regain his breath. He was beyond angry at him, getting into a state like this through impulsivity, but now was not the time for anger, John realised. Washington would have to make it through the night first.

Washington gasped out apologies as his arms gave up supporting his weight. He fell down. It was a good job that they had took a trip to Goodneighbor, John thought, rather than Washington deciding to do this at the Castle. At least he couldn't make a complete spectacle of himself.

“John," Washington keened weakly, sounding pathetic. “John, I can't breathe.”

John sighed dramatically. “Deep breaths, love,” he said softly. “It's gonna be alright.”

Washington struggled for a few minutes. He was on the verge of tears, John could tell. He started muttering deliriously that he wanted Ronnie, or his dad. John couldn't bring himself to say that they couldn't come.

He couldn't help but feel sorry for him, as much of Washington's fault as it was. John had suggested that Washington start drinking that night. To celebrate being away from Sammy, he'd thought. Not that he told Washington that. Washington appeared to tolerate her for no reason that John could understand. He hadn't expected Washington to start binge drinking for the rest of the night. He hadn't suspected it at all.

As John sat next to his lover, scared and concerned about him, John understood how Washington felt about him when he was high out of his mind and couldn't remember what he'd done. He understood a lot as he sat there. He was almost sure Washington had sat like this with him before when he had made himself ill from consuming too many chems. John knew without a doubt that he was right. But Washington would never complain, the royal idiot. He was too loyal for that. Too much of a lovesick fool.

Leaning down to kiss the now unconscious Washington on the forehead, John made a vow. He was going to prove to Washington that he, and Washington himself, could survive without the chems. It'd be worth it.

Soon though, his addiction spoke. There was no point trying at Goodneighbor. There were too many of his own drugs around. He fell into a restless sleep next to Washington. He'd sort it… somehow.

  


 


	30. If I Leave, Don't Save My Seat, Yeah, Sipping on Straight Chlorine

Washington flinched sharply as John touched his face. “What was that for?” John asked, concerned. “Nothing,” Washington replied hastily. “Sorry.” John stared back at him for a moment. “Nothing? It can't be nothing.” A hint of annoyance crept into his voice. Washington turned away from him and closed his eyes. He muttered “It can” into the sheets. He heard John calling his name and ignored him, preferring to look at the dark of his own eyes.

He curled up on himself slightly, facing the wall and thought over the events of earlier in the day.

It'd been a fine day. He'd woken up happy. He'd done most of the day's tasks. Happy until he'd been stuck alone with Sammy. He was trying to make her come to a better compromise for her settlement's alliance to the Minutemen. Washington wouldn't - couldn't - put the Minutemen under risk, no matter what history him and Sammy shared.

She paused suddenly, unusually, and then pulled out a syringe of Psycho. She smiled, staring Washington dead in the eyes, before injecting it into her veins.

Washington stuttered for a second, mouth agape. “You can't - you can't - you can't use that.”

“Too late now, isn't it, Washington?” she smiled and advanced aggressively. “What are you going to do? You can't stop me.”

Washington glared back at her. “I am the General. I can stop you.”

She shoved him back, causing him to stumble slightly. “I can do whatever the f**k I like, Washington. I'm not one of your soldiers.”

He grabbed her left arm. “While you are under my walls, you might as well be,” he growled harshly.  

Suddenly, Sammy moved. He felt a sharp pain on his jaw, fading to dull throbbing. He swore. “What the f**k was that for, Sammy?”

She answered. "To show you that you don't own me.” She walked out. “Good day, Washington,” she continued “Remember, I own you, not the other way around, and I can do whatever I like to you.”

He was left alone in the room and cried angrily. God damn it. Why could she time and time again get one over on him? He had growled in frustration and started pacing. He currently resembled a feral. There was no point forwarding the incident. It painted him as incapable if he got injured by one female addict. He'd keened. It was frustrating. And with everything else? He didn't know how to cope.

Washington curled up on himself further and started crying silently. "Washington, this is immature. Look at me," John snapped, irritated. Washington muttered "No" into the wall, refusing to move.  
"Wait, are you crying?" John asked, concerned. "There's no need to cry." Washington continued crying silently and shook his head. He just couldn’t deal with it all. John reached out to place an arm on his shoulder before thinking better of it. He swung his legs off the side of the bed. “Look,” John stared off into the distance. “Tell me what I've done, ‘cause honestly, I have no idea.” John paused for a few more seconds, distressed slightly when Washington didn't answer him. “Okay”. John got up and moved over to lie on the settee on the one wall. “I'll just sit here, then. I see - I see you need your space.”

John paused for another minute, playing with his ring on his finger. He saw Washington shaking, still refusing to answer. John wondered if he'd even heard him. Washington had been becoming more distant over the last few months. He was just busy, he reasoned. Busy trying to sort out that settlement with Sammy. Or maybe, his treacherous mind thought, maybe he was falling in love with Sammy instead. They appeared to have more in common. They were both clean, both the same age, and she appeared to be generally less fucked up - almost normal in fact.

He wanted to run. He wanted to run back to Goodneighbor, "home", and... was it even his home anymore? He knew. He knew he was happier at the Castle most of the time and... He repressed the urge to keen. Washington was his home and if he didn't want him, he'd stay. How much longer could Sammy be around anyway? They'd promised each other and he knew Washington well enough to know that he wouldn't break a promise. He called out to Washington. “I love you." Washington still ignored him. He pouted. Washington would explain soon, he hoped. He didn't want him angry at him. Or upset at him. Or maybe Washington did feel trapped with him and he wanted Sammy instead. He loved Washington. Maybe, if that's what he wanted, he'd have to let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little to John's knowledge, Sammy had forcefully stuck Washington on a Psycho high.


	31. Wonderwall

“You've been drinking a lot lately." Washington looked up at John, who was perched on his chest. He poked him in the stomach. “It's starting to show.”

Washington glared up at him. “What's that supposed to mean?”

John leaned back so that he was perched more on his knees. “Well…” he paused, not knowing how to word what he wanted to say. He gave up and fell back against Washington's chest. “I do have to say, you make a better pillow now.”

Washington looked up at John as John snuggled down against him. “And why would that be?” Washington asked somewhat harshly.

“All that alcohol has to go somewhere,” John muttered sleepily. “Doesn't matter to me. I thought it'd matter to you, though.” John smiled sleepily at him. “Just wondered why it didn't.”  

“What on Earth are you on about, John?” Washington looked exasperated. “Can you talk sense, please?”

John once again dropped his hands down and pressed his hands into the relatively thin layer of fat across Washington's pecs before dragging them down to the slightly more prominent swell of his stomach. “It's not an insult, but you're getting chubby, love.”

“I'm not,” Washington responded immediately.

John poked him again, with a barely concealed grin. “You are. Gotta say, I didn't notice till today, though. I really don't see you shirtless enough.”

Washington glared. “You know damn well why that is.”

John couldn't prevent his grin. “Because you are a tease. A beautiful one.”

“No,” Washington said matter-of-factly. “I'm a nightlight. You just called me fat, regardless of anything else." He looked mildly affronted.

“I called you chubby. There's a difference, love.” John smiled.

“Like what?” Washington continued glaring.

“You still look cute.” John beamed at him and moved down to kiss Washington.

“If you say so…” Washington trailed off. “Anyway, if I was fat, it'd be your fault for bringing me sweets all the time.” Washington's voice turned accusing.

“And not yours for trying to see how much alcohol you can drink without being wasted? I dread to think what's in Nuka-Dark, or anything else, for that matter.”

Washington didn't answer.

John's voice turned soft. “Look, I'm concerned, alright? You don't just drink like this unless there's a problem. There's people counting on you, Washington. They deserve a General who isn't wasted.”

“I'm never what anyone deserves.” Washington turned pitying. “Anyway, Harley would overrule me first, wouldn't he?” he turned self-assured. “There's no problem.”

“Tell me,” John answered simply. “Tell me if there is. I don't want to… I don't want to lose you.” John broke down against his chest. “I'm worried, love.”

“Trust me, I'm fine. I'm dealing.”

John looked back at him unconvinced. “Yeah, badly. Very badly. People like you come into Goodneighbor and they die. Heck, Washington, I've nearly died running. I don't want to live without you.”

Washington answered simply, lying his hand against John's back. “You won't. I'll tell you if it gets bad. It's been worse before.”

John nodded, wiping at his eyes.

“I'm going to sleep now, John. Can we drop this?”  Washington continued.

John nodded again in response.

“I love you, John,” Washington finished, closing his eyes.

John muttered “same”, feeling the rise and fall of his husband’s chest slow till his breathing levelled out. He lay awake most of the night, worrying. He could smell the faint tang of alcohol on him still and worried. He knew what Washington was like. It hardly surprised him he took out his stress this way, but… He couldn't help but worry. Why wouldn't he just tell him?

He felt a sharp craving for Jet enter his mind, but he lay still. He didn't want to wake Washington for the sake of his own addictions. He didn't need that. He swore slightly. Calling Washington out was hardly fair when he was just as bad himself. He knew he was selfish, but damn…

The world could do without him, but Washington… ? Washington needed to live and nothing as stupid as addiction should stop him living. It was selfish, but John needed him. He was the only thing he'd never wanted to run from. He loved him. He loved him so much it hurt. He didn't want him to be the core of his own destruction. Not now. Not ever.

  



	32. Chapter 32

Live and Love - Talk Yourself Sober


	33. There Are Many Things That I Would Like to Say to You, But I Don't Know How

“John.” Washington touched his husband lightly on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” John shot him a confused look. “You were throwing up again. Surely you don't have anything left to throw up.”

“It’s just withdrawal, love.” Washington looked at him, worried, while John shot him a smile. “I thought you wanted me to quit.”

“Yes, but-” Washington rubbed his wrist. “I don't want to lose you. I love and accept you. I'd rather have an addict of a husband than a dead one," Washington mumbled. “I don't want to lose you.”

“You'd have Sammy,” John became angry suddenly. “You - She- Why are you so enraptured?” he shoved Washington lightly. “If I die, you could just spend your happily ever after with her.”

Washington sighed. “I hate her.”

“You don't.”

“Yes, I do.” Washington picked up John lightly." You'll feel better if you sleep.”

“Depends. Are you sleeping with me?” John had a hopeful smile. “It's been a few days since we've fallen asleep together.”

“I've got work, John. Lots of it.” John's face fell. “I've got to work through the reports and settlement ‘issues’. I've been busy the past few days. I haven't left the Castle in days and talking of that, I need to check for mirelurk eggs again. I don't think that's been done. There's too much to do. Managing an army is more complex than a town, John.”

“You want me to do the reports? It takes you ages. I can-”

Washington lightly placed John down on their bed, “No. You're sick. Sleep.”

John countered. “I just threw up.” He tried to get up to Washington lightly pushing him back down. “What? It could be worse.”

“If it was once, I'd agree. However, you have decided to withdraw and have thrown up at least three times today, if not more,” Washington sighed. “Sleep. It'll do you good.”

“Fine,” John pouted and turned to the wall. “Night.”

Washington smiled at his husband's immaturity. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “I love you.”

“Same," John mumbled in a slightly husky voice, the, as Washington would call it, "I am extremely tired or angry" growl, or possibly the "trying and failing to look scary" growl. Washington smiled to himself as he pulled out the files he needed to work on. John failed at the basic nature of growling so much that it amused him. He got distracted thinking about what John would have sounded like as a human. Would his voice have been smooth or high? He knew he'd never know.

Washington glared at his work as the words started dancing to his tired eyes. He started thinking he should have taken John up on his offer, but he was sick and… he was just being lazy. He could do it himself. 

Washington was extremely tempted to bang his head on the table. Why couldn't he be smart? He - His lack of reading ability was the bane of his existence. He reached idly into the cupboard and pulled out a beer. Right, he should be able to concentrate now. He continued working. What he wouldn't do for a good night's sleep.

Washington woke up with John in his arms. He sighed. He'd managed to fall asleep in all of his armour. And his coat. He sighed and snuggled closer to John. He didn't want to deal with Sammy again. He could just stay asleep until John woke up. It wouldn't hurt. Not for a day.

John woke up with Washington holding him in a tight grip, and hard Jet cravings. The Jet cravings could not be forgotten. He groaned. He didn't believe Washington. Not one bit. Washington only loved him because he had no self confidence. He could have done better than him. They didn't even have the link of leadership anymore. He'd stepped down in the issue of fairness not long after the town had been rebuilt. He'd left himself. He didn't want to be rejected, really. He needed to quit for him. He'd be a better, his mind protested, accessory for Washington if he was clean. He wasn't exactly casting the best impression for Washington.

He fidgeted against his will. Stupid Jet, stupid cravings, stupid everything. He wanted Sammy. He could - he could tell. He must want someone more feminine, well, actually female. He felt sick. Washington was gonna leave him. He was going to be alone. He started crying. It was all so stupid. What happened to him any time he got attached? His parents died, not that he'd really loved them. His brother became captain dickhead and then became a synth, or the other way around. He wouldn't know. He'd never know. His town was set alight by the Brotherhood of Steel and now he was going to lose the love of his life. He cried harder. He was a screw-up. Everything he did he was going to screw up.

He felt Washington stir and panicked. He was pathetic, a woman in all ways but the way title mattered, apparently. He needed to calm down. But his mind wandered… pathetic. Emotional. A curse. Was it any wonder his husband was going to go? His body did the opposite of what he wanted and he cried harder. He needed oxygen. If he died, Washington would be happy. He wouldn't need to formally ditch him. He could live with her, marry her. Maybe she'd get his ring. He hoped not. He wanted to be buried with it. But would he even get that?

Washington pulled John up and hugged him. He started singing a lullaby softly, soft and caring. His husband's voice was nice, even if this was slightly patronising. “You gotta bury me with my ring, right? You gonna? You can just make a new one for someone else, right?"

“What? John, don't say things like that.”

“I just wanna know.” John frowned. “Just tell me.”

“Yes, John. Why wouldn't I?”  

“Sammy.” Crying lightly, John continued. “You're gonna give her my ring. You can marry her faster then.”

Washington groaned in annoyance and John flinched. He'd clearly uncovered Washington's plan. “If Sammy crawled up in a hole and died, it'd be a good day, John.”

John retorted. “If she curled up in your bed, would that be a better day?”

“No,” Washington sighed.

“How about naked on your bed with- ?“

“John, please stop before I throw up.” Washington smiled, brushing his fingers against John's torso to make him laugh. “I don't like crap like that. I like you. And only you. Don't work yourself into a panic, please. Not for stupid things like this. Please.”

John nodded, short of breath. “You know you smell like alcohol, right? I miss the party?”


	34. Is It Just Our Bodies? Are We Both Losing Our Minds?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is the only reason you're holding me tonight 'cause we're scared to be lonely?

Washington was slightly upset. He stared at John with his fists clenched and shook visibly. “I told you, I can't tell you.”

“Why not?” John glared back at him. "You are my husband. I deserve to know.  Something is on your mind.”

“You don't need to know.” Washington crossed his arms. “It doesn't concern you.”

“Nice.” John stared back, angry tears pricking his eyes. “I'm glad.” He turned away. “I'm glad to see how much you love me.”

“I never said I didn't love you. It just doesn't concern you,” Washington answered quickly.

“You want her to move into our quarters and it doesn't concern me?” John's voice turned angry and hurt and he turned to look back at Washington, wiping his eyes. “What about when she moves into your bed? Does it concern me then?”

“John,” Washington's voice filled with concern. “You know-”

“I know what?” John's voice turned shrill as he began to pace. “It's me. I'm the problem. I've driven you to drink, haven't I? It's undeniable. I - I - It makes sense. You want her. You flinched away from me the other day and - and -” John's voice broke. “You don't - you don't love me anymore. I'm sorry.” John dropped down heavily on the bed and broke down crying, trying to hide it by messing with his ring.  

“John,” Washington cooed. “Look at me”

Fiddling with his ring, John refused to look up. “I can - I can go if you want. Take a break. You can sleep with her then and I wouldn't need to know. Or just not take me back. I want you to be happy. I don't need to - I don't need to ruin your life as well."

“John, no.” Washington's voice became stronger. “I don't mean anything more than you.”

“You do,” John muttered “To me.”

“I don't care. Look, I love you. I don't love her.” Washington's voice took a nervous tone. “Don't go. Please. I can't explain. I can't. It's keeping everyone safe, just... She'll be gone soon and we'll be okay then, alright?"

John nodded against Washington's chest.

Washington angled John's head towards him gently and wiped away his tears. “I love you.”

Washington kissed him gently, making a promise. He broke away from John. “There's no need to doubt my love.” He paused. “I don't like that sort of thing anyway. You should know me better than sleeping around.”

John nodded, exhausted from his episode. He clung to Washington. “I love you,” Washington repeated on loop till he felt John lull and fall asleep. He looked tiny and vulnerable with a wet face and a clingy position against Washington's side.

Washington cringed internally. Sammy had took enough from him already. He didn't want to - he couldn't - lose John as well. It'd break him.


	35. Get Obsessed

Sammy stared deeply at Washington, watching him as he slept soundly intertwined with his lover. That should be her, she thought, not that chem-addicted waste of space. She needed to fix this. She needed to work towards making him hers, like he was supposed to be. She would have claimed him before any of this if she'd have realised. Realised he was still alive.

She watched his muscles move under his thin blankets. He was built solidly, beautifully, if a bit too soft for her tastes. Oh well. That could be fixed. She just needed to correct him. He needed to be corrected. She'd correct his eating habits, his life, and his ability to give affection. It could all be fixed and he could be hers again. He would be hers again.

She still remembered the first time. He'd been human then, tan. He wasn't particularly into it, but God, was it worth it. It gave her a first taste of him, the feel of fingers sinking into soft muscle, blue eyes looking at her in vacant hooded desire. He wasn't all there, but he was pretty and submissive and willing. It strengthened her desire. He needed to be hers. She needed to feel him again. That chem addict didn't know him like she did. He couldn't give Washington what he wanted. She could, however. He couldn't appreciate Washington for what he was, all pretty muscle and beauty. He was too focused on the chems. He didn't worship Washington. Washington worshipped him. It was wrong. Washington was an object of appeal and he wasted it with him. She could worship that body and make it better. She could give him control. She could give him it all. She needed her hands on his skin to show him what he was missing. One touch would be enough. She could make him feel _good_ again, like she had with him, but with Gold? That damn mutt couldn't understand human need, wouldn't let her near him. It wouldn't bite her again.

He smiled in his sleep, nestling even closer to the chem addict, holding him firmly against his chest, content. She saw a brief look of discomfort on the addict's face. Maybe the chem addict was trapped. She plotted. Could she make him leave?

Then grief-stricken Washington might fall into her arms and she could fix him, making him thinner, quieting him down, making him use his voice only to please, making him need her, making her his only outlet.

Smugly, she continued to watch Washington. Soon he would be hers, to use and abuse, and he would be ~perfect.


	36. I Hate Your Boyfriend

She analysed Washington intently over the next few days. She needed to make a plan of action. A plan of action to fix him, to help him. She watched him. He ate too much, she deduced, and he didn't exercise much at the Castle either. The most laborious thing she saw him do was clean. He seemed to be constantly eating as far as she could tell. Small things. Berries as he farmed, meat from his packs, random things salvaged from the wastes. She couldn't get it. She couldn't understand. He was just ruining himself. She could fix him. She needed to.

She saw the addict passing him food on occasion, random things passed as gifts. Random pre-War sweets. Nuka-Cola flavors that were hard to acquire. She wondered if he'd ever read the labels on them, if he realised how much better off would he be without them. Nuka-Quantum seemed the favourite, Sammy noticed. 420 calories in each bottle. It was disgusting. Was the addict trying to sabotage him? She wondered. Trying to make Washington seem less attractive to others, so he could keep him to himself? It was pathetic, Sammy thought. 

She watched, pained, over the next few weeks. She swore she could see Washington getting softer slowly, his well defined muscles being smothered, his coat hugging his frame closer, his belt a few clicks loser. She swore he'd start breaking buttons on his shirt soon if he didn't stop and it was all the addict's fault. She was taking him away from her, making him less ~perfect. She needed perfection. He needed perfection. He needed her.

She watched at night as the addict's hands wandered across Washington's chest, under his shirt as Washington fell asleep, practically purring. Sammy wouldn't understand how he could praise that body while it was flawed. Sammy couldn't understand why he wouldn't fix Washington’s body for himself. All it would take was a small amount of convincing, a small comment here and there. Finally, Sammy wondered, she wondered why Washington didn't care, why he let it all happen. Didn't he want to be thin and perfect? Didn't he want to be perfect for her?


	37. If You Stay Alive, It'd Be Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after Washington becomes a glowing one and escapes the Institute. Arron is dead and his biological grandmother, Sammy, has arrived to hassle Washington, Arron's biological grandfather. Washington had not known Arron was related to him till just before this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide mention.

Washington had been thinking about it for a while. Ever since  _she_ had shown up, really, with all the stress and John - God, John. He still hadn't woken up and it made Washington feel sick. Someone had poisoned him, poisoned his John, and he still hadn't woken up.

He'd been moved out of their quarters into a medical room not long after he'd passed out and they had concluded that John had not gone feral. Off the symptoms that he'd described, the medical team had concluded arsenic poisoning, but even so, even after they'd ‘cured him’, he still hadn't woken up. All Washington could bring himself to do was sit with him. It hurt. What if he just never woke up?  

They'd given him the final say. John wasn't on life support, so it wasn't costly to keep him alive, but it was still degrading, and Washington knew, from when he saw it on other soldiers, other Minutemen, after people were in a coma for more than a few weeks, especially after a month, they were just gone. Muscle wasted away, struggling to function, and then the infection would get them from bed sores or something.

He'd been out for six days, 150 odd hours, and currently, he had shown no sign of waking up. He'd said two weeks. Give it two weeks and then he'd have to be given the fatal injection and die. It hurt to think about. He tapped the cigarette box that he picked up idly. He'd confessed the temptation to John before he'd gone under and it was the angriest he’d seen John in a while. He'd only meant it as a light-hearted comment but John had gone slightly mad about it, noting "health concerns". What did he care? He didn't care. He was over sixty, longer than his parents had lived, but yet again, as he looked at the sleeping ghoul in front of him, John was ten years older than him, but he shouldn't have to just… die.

Losing muscle mass was a concern. John just didn't have the weight to burn and the medic was concerned that John's body would attack his heart if he didn't wake up soon. He was on a sugar drip, the tech that had been recovered from the BOS after the Prydwen crashed. Fortunate, or else John could have had a heart attack and died not long after he passed out.

Washington would trade all of his time to give John another day. John didn't want to die, not like him. Even when he'd lost his daughter he'd bounced back up fairly quickly, at least as far as he'd been told. And John, he had no reason to lie to him. They'd been together so long that there would be no reason, and now there was a chance that he was going to outlive John and he didn't want to. He placed a chaste kiss on John’s hand and left. He wandered up to the roof of the Castle and stared into the ocean.

He remembered jumping off here in his late thirties, convinced he wanted to die. Looking at what had happened since, it was probably good that he hadn't, but on nights like this, the temptation to do so was overbearing. The sea called his name.

He could remember John confessing that he thought he was going to go feral, the slight tremor in his voice that showed him desperately trying to avoid a panic attack or bursting into tears. He didn't see John cry often, but… going feral was something else, worse than death. Trapped in your own body.

He struck up a cigarette and took a heavy drag from it. He couldn't care anymore. If he died, he died. He was only living on borrowed time. And how it looked, John wasn't going to make it. And if this was going to kill him, it was a way out of a world without John.

They'd told them in the Institute that John'd go feral and he wouldn't. The thought was earth-shattering. He didn't want to have to kill John and live on. But the signs were there. They'd all been there. He'd been so scared...

And then he fell into the coma.

He felt relaxed and light-headed, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, like nothing even mattered, and he remembered what had drawn him to this as a kid.

He started out, watching the high tide lap against the Castle walls. So what if this killed him? He couldn't bring himself to care.


	38. Cheetah Tongue

Time slowed as John entered Washington's quarters. “Washington,” he gasped, shocked at what he saw. He turned away and left, leaving the doors open. He didn't care if he followed him or not. Not at this point.

He didn't know quite what he'd done wrong. He'd been having a fairly good day. He'd woken up before Washington for once and waited for him to wake up.

He'd gone to brush his radstag and Washington had followed him to sort out Glory and Freedom. They'd been followed by Gold, who decided he wanted to play with a stick for much of the morning.

Washington had been eventually distracted by someone asking about a gun mod and retreated back to his quarters to work on it, claiming that he could do it quicker.

Gold had stayed with John. Not that John minded. The retriever was adorable, even ghouled, and had focused the day on a stick, rather than Washington. Unusual but cute.

Washington had been followed to his quarters by Sammy. Not unusual but deeply infuriating. She had an unhealthy fascination with Washington. So what if he'd had her kid? He didn't owe her anything now. There was no need for all of this sneaking around. He'd never expected her to. He'd never expected Washington to reciprocate.

He'd opened the door and then he'd seen Washington bent backwards over his workbench, hands pressed against the surface as he shared spit with that whore. He hadn't taken time to analyse the situation fully. Too angry. He didn't think Washington was capable of that. Not at all. He grabbed his radstag Liberty-Bell and left the Castle quickly. He quickly wiped angry tears away from his face. That's all they were. Angry.  

Washington caught him eventually, all tears and begging. John's heart hurt leaving, but it was clear from Washington's actions that he wanted Sammy over him. He wasn't being played by him. He was just too comfortable, that was all. He just hadn't expected. Who would have expected?

He galloped off. They deserved each other. He hoped they were happy together now. They deserved each other. And John? He was going to be free, away from both of them.


	39. Scared to be Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, assuming Washington has cheated on him with Sammy, leaves Washington alone.

It was strange waking up alone, falling asleep alone, Washington thought. He just expected John to be there, although he wasn't, and if he didn't sort something out, he never would be again. John was in Goodneighbor, fuming at him. Apparently, he'd been insecure in their relationship for ages. Washington wished someone would have told him. He missed his husband and talking to Harley, who'd lost all respect for him overnight.

Washington cried. No, not cried, wept as he lay curled up in his bed. He clutched his stuffed dear and sobbed. His face was damp and he looked pathetic, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He just wanted John back. He wanted his husband back. He'd - he'd lost everything in one fell swoop. He just wanted him back, the love of his life, the centre of the world.

He didn't care. He didn't care that John wasn't perfect, a role model. He'd loved him and that'd been enough once. He didn't know if John'd even want him back… He fiddled with his ring. “I love you,” he whispered, almost expecting to hear John's voice, but he didn't. John was off living the good life in Goodneighbor while Washington mourned his loss.


	40. Fix-ation

She had him, finally. The addict had left. She had him, but it wasn't enough. She needed more.

She started by fixing him, a bit at a time. She insulted him as he ate, whenever he ate. She insulted him whenever he drank something that wasn't water and was calorific. She was pleased when she didn't have to correct him any more, when he resulted to drinking pure water and infrequently eating fruits and berries. She was pleased as she watched him shrink before her. She praised him as he got thinner. She was especially pleased the day he buttoned his coat up over his armour, shallow eyes staring blankly as he hugged his chest, shaking slightly. He was becoming perfect, becoming hers. But she wanted more.

She told him when he could speak, insulting his voice for the unavoidable growl whenever he opened his mouth or whenever he spoke to someone who wasn't her. That husky voice was hers, the voice more accustomed to a bedroom than anything else. A thrill went through her whenever he spoke. She needed that voice. But she still wanted more.

She saw him crying to Ronnie, curled up in her arms, saying that he wanted John back, that he'd screwed up. He should have been coming to her. He should have only wanted her.

She needed to fix this. She needed to make him hers alone. She started undermining their affections, sharing how the addict sabotaged him to make him less attractive, how Ronnie only cared out of pity. She didn't see him cry again. The next time Ronnie approached him, he shrugged her off, staring vacantly. She stared at him, worried, like she'd never seen him before. Sammy thought he was perfect like this. Mistrusting. But she still wanted more.

She pinned him up against the wall in the back alley of some forgotten alley by the Castle, the body she had made too weak to fight back. She put her lips against his and bit down. She felt him squirm against her. Desperately, she heard him tell her to stop. “Please.” But she wouldn't. He'd enjoy it, she knew, once he got into it. She needed this. He needed this. She slipped her hand between his shirt to feel his chest, almost solid to the touch, almost perfect. All of this was hers. All of this, she had made. All of this. 

She felt him stiffen against her, still sobbing at her to stop. It was beneath him to cry. She'd fix that next. She'd work on this next. He'd enjoy this. He'd enjoy her. Her slave. Her disaster. Her love. She'd make him addicted, a sex slave. She'd condition him to need her. She'd be the only one he'd need, the only one he wanted. He'd associate her with pleasure, with desire, with everything. She could be the General and he could be hers.

She was torn away by the sound of Washington's second in command, Harley, approaching. "Don't think this is the last time," she spoke as she left Washington shaking. "Don't forget, you're mine now."


	41. County Roads, Take Me Home

“That dog is a liability. Take it back,” Sammy growled as they stopped yet again to let Gold, Washington's golden retriever, catch his breath.  

Washington glared at her. “I tried once. We need to get to Goodneighbor relatively fast, Sammy. Gold apparently doesn't want to stay.” He frowned. “I bet he misses John.”

“That addict. You have to be kidding.” Washington’s glare intensified. “Regardless, I don't want to stop for your dog.”

“Fine, then.” Washington clenched his fists. “Go back to the Castle. I'd rather have Harley with me, but _wait…_ he won't talk to me because of you. He thinks I'm a damn adulterer.”

“But you want to be.” She tried to flirt as Washington glared, his mouth set in a thin line. “You want to have me, don't you?”

“You're not my type,” Washington replied, irritated.

“Why not? I was before.” She also looked annoyed and took a step towards him. Gold gave a breathless growl. “I hate that mutt.”

“I was drunk or something. I told you, I can't remember. It was a mistake. I'd say I wished it never happened, but Arron was a good kid. He doesn't deserve to not exist.”

“Noble,” Sammy replied offhandedly. She grabbed her gun and started cleaning it.

“I've heard,” Washington replied sarcastically. He picked Gold up with some difficulty and started walking, whistling for Glory and Freedom to trot after him.

“Aren't you waiting for me?” Sammy screeched as Washington walked off. Washington gave her no reply. He walked for about a mile, holding Gold awkwardly in his arms. “I swear, Gold, y husband is lighter than you.” Washington dropped Gold down.

Sammy marched over angrily. “Why are we stopping?” she snapped. “If it's-”

Washington glared back. “I am hungry. I am tired. Nevermind the damn dog. I'm giving Gold a drink and then we can go on again.”

“No wonder _you_ are hungry.” Sammy walked over to Glory and Freedom to receive a nervous look from Washington. She picked up something from his pack, walked over, and poked him in the stomach. “Pig. No wonder you want to eat. It's no wonder your husband left you.”

“That's actually your fault,” Washington interjected. “You know, when you _kissed_ me?”

“It can't be the only reason. John is so tiny. He wouldn't want someone as large as you.”

“He married me. I'm sure that's the epitome of ‘I don't care what you look like’.” 

“You didn't answer me. Why aren't I your type?” she asked accusingly, hands on hips.

“Let's see...” Washington raised the pitch of his voice. “If you were smaller, prettier, male, wore a red coat and a tricorn hat, weren't addicted to Psycho, didn't demand me to do things and had the name John Hancock-Noble, then there'd be a possibility of you being my type, AKA my husband, who I love, who wouldn't have run off if it wasn't for you."

“You must be to blame as well or else he'd have listened to you.” She smiled, seeing she'd hit a nerve. “You're too stubborn and headstrong. An alcoholic. Fat, self-centred, and prideful.”

Washington took a sip from his hip flask as he glared her down. “I suppose I can’t deny alcoholic. Certain _things_ drive me to drink." He paused. "Stop wasting time, Sammy. We have somewhere to be.” He climbed up onto Glory and Freedom and lightly squeezed her sides to get her to walk. Gold trotted after him with slightly more energy.

Washington was weary as they approached Boston. It was dangerous, especially at night. He was going to push on till they got to Goodneighbor. He didn't trust Sammy around his animals enough to sleep. Goodneighbor wasn't that far away.

He debated slipping into the tunnels under Boston to walk before thinking better of it. If he encountered radroaches down there, Sammy would just laugh at him rather than kill them. He continued on. He'd get to Goodneighbor soon, then he'd have a probably very angry husband to deal with.


	42. Taste the Flesh, Get Obsessed

“I just don't get it,” Washington muttered, staring down at the dirt and faded blood in the alley. He idly petted Gold's head and leaned back against an alley wall to escape the rain slightly. “The kid wasn't involved in drugs, didn't really have any enemies here, and his commander spoke highly of him.”

Gold whined next to him. “I know, boy." Washington stroked him, brushing his fur over places where it was absent. “I know you don't like the rain.”

He cast a mournful look over the crime scene, watching as it wasted away. “I just… I just don't know anymore, Gold. We can't make a statement about this. I don't want to mess up Goodneighbor’s relationship with the Minutemen. It's not worth it.”

“You don't want to mess up your relationship with that useless addict, you mean.” Sammy stood silhouetted against the narrow light at the end of the alley like a femme fatale. She swung her hips out and carried herself in a way that screamed "look at me". Washington might have been tempted to say that she was pretty once. Not that she was now, now that he knew what she was.”

Glaring, Washington looked up at her and he felt Gold tense and growl beside him. He glared at Sammy. “It's too late for that now, isn't it, Sammy? You saw to that. There are bigger things now, anyway,” he said defeatedly.

“The way I see it, Washington, I did you a favour.” She walked towards him, smiling.

“How do you reach that conclusion?” he spat. “You ruined my life!” He folded his arms over his chest.

“No," she whispered. She reached out to touch him and ran her hands over his chest and sides. “I made you better.”

He fidgeted uncomfortably.

"I mean, you were fat before and getting fatter. That's what the addict wanted.”

Washington looked at her in disbelief. “No,” he said plainly. “John wouldn't do that.”

“But he did. He was possessive. You were out of his league. He wanted to bring you down to his level.” She lifted his shirt and ran her hands across his chest.

Gold growled aggressively next to him and Sammy took a few steps back. “Get your dog under control.”

“No," Washington growled. “Why should I?” he crossed his arms. “Don't touch me.”

“But I own you, Washington.” She moved closer slowly. “And you've got to do what I say or you might just find all your friends dead. Harley-”

“Can defend himself.” Washington cut her off quickly.

“The addict-”

“You're in Goodneighbor. How wise would that be?”

“I know. Ronnie. I'll kill her first. I'll make her believe it was your fault. I'll kill her slowly and painfully.”

She saw the flicker of distress on Washington's face.

“That's right, isn't it?” She walked forwards again. “That's all you are.” She grabbed his jaw. “A little-”.

Gold jumped up and bit her, hard. She swore and shook him off before shooting him with her silenced gun. She stood, panting. “Now look what I-”

Washington screamed in animalistic rage and launched himself at her. He started punching her, not caring if he killed her. She'd gone back on her word. He'd go back on his. It didn't matter what happened to him as a consequence. She knew she could shoot anyone else who stood up for him. He needed to save them. He had nothing to lose.

Startled, she took the punches for a few minutes until the adrenaline Washington was acting under made his punches weaker, then she grabbed her gun again and shot him in the leg.

She felt Washington tense above her. He fell down on her slightly and Sammy knew what she wanted to do next. She rifled through her pockets, pulled out a syringe of Calmex, and injected it into Washington. She then did the same with the Med-X she had, ensuring that Washington couldn't feel the wounds.

She pushed Washington up against the wall. He idly complied, using the wall as a support to help him stand. She could tell he knew the injury was there, but losing the ability to feel had addled his drugged mind. 

She pushed him back and kissed him forcefully. She bit hard at his lips, wanting to hurt him, wanting her to be his.

She pulled away, panting. It'd been so long. She growled at him. “It'll be Ronnie next. She'll die next.” She bit at his neck and worked her way down. She could feel Washington tremor against her, crying. But she knew he'd enjoy this, that he needed this. She'd have him soon.

She undid the buttons on his shirt and gasped at the muscular physique she uncovered. “I made this,” she growled. “It's mine.” She placed her hands over his chest and felt the rigid muscles. “Mine.”

She felt her arousal spike and ground against Washington, craving him.

“I killed him,” she gasped out. “The plan went better than expected.”

“Plan?” She could hear the pain in Washington's voice.

“Yes. The plan was just to make you and John give up on each other so you'd consider me instead, although I can't say I mind this ending.”

She went to fiddle with Washington's waistband. She felt him cringe and squirm in her grip. She knew she'd teach him, even if it required killing everyone he cared about.

As if requested like an angel from above, John stood in the alleyway. His voice dropped to a growl. “Get your hands off my husband, you bitch!”

He attacked her, tangling with her on the floor. He fought dirty, going for the kill. She wasn't going to ruin his life anymore, or anyone else's. He slit her throat and kicked her body away from him. “Scum,” he growled.

He wiped the blood off his knife and walked back towards Washington, who was leaning unsteadily against the wall. He looked at John with wild eyes. “Is Gold alright?” he forced out.

“Are you alright?” John replied, reaching his hand out and freezing when Washington flinched.

“Drugged. Can't think. Gold?” he growled, frustrated at himself.

“Daisy has him. He should be okay,” John replied clearly. “What drugs?”

Washington spat. “I don't know. Painkillers? Needles.” He took a shaky step forward and fell down suddenly, passing out.

John dropped down next to him, glad when he felt the faint flicker of a pulse. It must be an OD, he thought, but on what?  

 


	43. I Will Let You Down, I Will Make You Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hurt - Johnny Cash
> 
> People change and ghouls, more than most.

Washington nibbled at John's neck, high out of his mind. He knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was John. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He liked it here, surprisingly. With the Disciples gone, the place had turned a lot more friendly. A lot more livable.

He'd been fighting in the Gauntlet, fighting criminals. Thieves. Murderers. He was still working his way through members of the Disciples. They stayed chained until they were to be released. It was necessary to keep the raiders in order, but some part of him couldn't deny it was fun.

He'd took more chems than he dared count within the last week alone. He was starting to enjoy the high. The speed of Jet, the clarity of Mentats, the strength of Buffout. And they made him know what he wanted. John. And nothing else.

He ran his chipped fingernails down the side of John's face, dipping them into the cracks and crevices that made up the scarred skin of the ghoul affliction. He caught the side of John's coat and ran his fingers down the edge of the material, observing how different the texture felt under his fingers while on drugs. It was captivating. He leant forward to pull John's coat from his shoulders. He wanted to know what other things felt like in all of this clarity.

“Stop.” John placed his hands against Washington's arm. “I - I - I want you to stop.” John focused his eyes on Washington and Washington unwillingly moved his hand away.

"John, just, you look so captivating tonight.” Washington spoke his thoughts out loud. “So much - so many colours. You make me fall.”

“Thanks,” John muttered and turned away from Washington. He wrapped his arms around himself. “I'm just not sharing the sense of victory you feel.”

“Why not?” Washington looked at him confused. “It was a great kill.”

“Yeah. A person,” John spat out.

“A criminal,” Washington countered. “It's necessary.”

“It's never necessary,” John growled. “There's no sport in it. They're just victims. Entertainment. The man I-” John cut off.

“Entertainment that stops the raiders rebelling. What was the end of that sentence, John?” Washington stared at him.

John stared back angrily. “The man I fell in love with would never act like this. The man I fell in love with wouldn't do this. The man I fell in love with had values.” He paused. "I've seen you do incredible things in the name of preserving life. I've seen you in tears at a hurt animal because it was cruel to hunt like that. What now? Has that all just gone? Do you even care anymore?"

“People change,” Washington answered plainly after a pause.

“And not for the better.” John refused to look at him again. “Go get high or something. It's all you care about now. Not me, not anyone.”

Washington growled lightly, only to receive a growl in response. John was pissed at him. He'd see in time, Washington knew. And then he’d have him back.

He looked around. Maybe he should follow John's advice and just “get high”. He grabbed a Calmex needle and released the chemical into his veins. He lay back, the relaxation rushing over him.

He could recall the events of today. How good it felt to just… everything. The Gauntlet. He felt unstoppable. Unhittable. So much power and control, something he rarely had. The rush was beyond compelling. The rush would forever be compelling, and whether John stayed or not, he would ride this high till he died. It was all-consuming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this is canon or not.


	44. I'm Coming After You

Harley ran to Dylan, lifting him up to swing him excitedly. "Dylan. I found you. By the love of Atom, kitten." 

Dylan smiled warmly. "Hey Harley, I didn't -"

Harley's grip slipped slightly. “You're getting difficult to lift, kitten.” Harley laughed lightly as Dylan wrapped his arms around him to support his own weight a bit more. “Either I'm weaker or Nuka-World is rubbing off on you. They don't feed the _slaves_ , you know... Do you know how long it took me to find you?” He laughed. “I had to fight my way through this Gauntlet.  I thought I was going to die. They caught me and collared me, the bastards. But I walked through the pain. I left. I didn't want to be demented dog food. It's still tingling. It's a proximity. I'm hoping one of you can get it off.” Harley placed Dylan down and indicated to the collar. 

Harley frowned. “I'm talking fast, aren't I?  Jet. I hate the crap. It's convenient in a fight, though.” Harley glanced back at his trembling partner. “You okay?” Harley smiled weakly. “I'm okay. We’re all okay.”

“You could have died.” Dylan's voice was hoarse. “You shouldn't have come, Harley. It's too dangerous.”

“Well, I'm here now. It's too late, kit. Anyway, looking at you, it looks like I have some great food to try here.”

“Arguably. It's more so that everything is covered in sugar and crap. Even John looks like he's gained some weight. I wouldn't comment on that, though. He about punched me in the face when I did.”


	45. I Know You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Harlz.

“Kitten,” Dylan hummed in affirmation as he lay across Harley's chest. “Who are you trying to impress?” Harley's voice had a playful yet threatening edge. “I hope it's me, Jack.”

“I'm not trying to impress anyone,” Dylan mumbled. “I am tired, though,” he mumbled into Harley's neck as he started dozing off. 

“I need to know, kit. What's with the weight loss, then? It's not for me, is it? I don't care what's cool.” Dylan mumbled something quietly that Harley couldn't make out. Harley frowned at him. “I can't hear you when you do that."

Dylan lifted his head up. “I just said it wasn't intentional. I wouldn't do that.” Dylan sighed and rolled off Harley onto his back next to him. “Why would I do that?”

“That's what I was wondering. Is the food here not as exotic as Nuka-World or something? What was the food even like in Nuka-World? I didn't get to try much of it trying to calm Washington down from his state.” Harley smiled honestly. “I bet it's great.”

“Sweet. There's a lot of pre-War sweets. A stupid amount. Bet you'd have liked them, or at least something. They had like flavoured sugar - something beginning with a K. Kallmi? Kali? Kane… ? think it was kali. They have different animals over there, too. There are these bloodworms and you've never tasted anything worse in your life. Gatorclaw meat isn't bad. And they had these mirelurks. Sweet as hell. They were like infused with Nuka-Cola.  We had to kill them to clear out the bottling plants.” Dylan paused from his ramble. “You know, he did still do good while he was playing Overboss, even if he was stoned most the time. I just don't get why he never came after me and John when we left. He only found us expecting to be dead. And he was cold. Changed. Even to John.”

“Yeah.” Harley nodded. “Those birds have a lot of work to do before they stand a chance again. Now that is something that will never happen to us, kit.”  

Harley laughed as Dylan's stomach growled and Dylan blushed.

“It's almost like you're not eating,” Harley smirked. “Care to retract the ‘not intentionally losing weight’ statement, Dylan?”

“You've just got me hungry talking about food, Harlz, that's all.”  Dylan yawned. “I'm still tired. I wouldn't lose weight anyway. I've got you and you don't care.”

Harley sighed and looked at Dylan. “Just don't do any of it for me, kitty cat.”

Dylan mumbled something else as he re-closed his eyes.

Harley frowned at him as he threw an arm around his side. ‘I hope that was an agreement.”


	46. This Is Life on Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life on Earth - Snow Patrol

“How long you think it'll be before the sea takes all this back?” John stared out, looking at the waterfront from the top of the Castle. “Do you think we'll see the day?”

“The sea?” Washington looked at him, confused.

“Yes. You know, the sea? Usually filled with water. I hear it's salty,” John replied sarcastically.

“No, the sea is a new concept to me, John. What do you think?” Washington glared at him. “What do you mean, 'the sea will take it back'?”

“Drown the Castle. The land. The tides are changing. You've seen it. I've seen it. Settlements drown, buildings washed away, and I've only been here seventy years. Imagine. Imagine being as old as Daisy or someone. How long before the sea takes us?” John looked frustrated, racing through his words.

“This is the way it's always been, the way it always will be. It's all we know.” Washington was confident. “It's not going to change.”

“Maybe it's time to know more.” Looking thoughtful, John stared out to the sea. “There's more out there, more than the Commonwealth. You've heard people talking.” John sounded hopeful. “We still have the Yangtze. We could go. Explore.”

“No.”

“No?” John's voice dropped. “Don't you want to go?”

“No. I have duties. Responsibilities.” He saw the frown on John's face. “Remember Nuka-World? I'm now more of a freak and the rest of the world could just as well be a hellhole, you know that. Why would you want to go?”

“Restlessness. I don't know. I mean, I'd like to do something different before I go feral, but I don't want to go somewhere without you. I just don't want to do _this_ forever.”

“Before... ?” Washington grabbed John's hand tightly. “You don't know something I don't, do you? Like Ronnie?” Washington’s voice gained a quiet keen. “Don't tell me…”

“I'm not gonna go feral. Don't sweat. No memory problems, no unusual anger or aggression, Washington. I'm fine.”

Grabbing John, Washington held him close to his chest. “Love, I'd like to breathe.” Washington shook his head and held him closer. “Washington,” John complained. “I'm fine. Just angsty.”

“'Angsty'. Like that happens, John. Anything...” Washington looked John in the eyes. “You tell me. Promise?"

“Sure.” John made some offhand gesture and sat down on the wall of the Castle with Washington to stare at the waves as they crashed against the rocks.

He lazed against Washington's side, feeling content. He knew some of that was due to the modified radiation Washington produced, not that he could control it the best. It followed his emotions too well. Probably good for a feral horde. Not so good for Washington, especially when panic was involved.

Washington was scared of himself. It was obvious. He'd doped Harley out on a few occasions. Harley had just laughed it off. If the higher doses of radiation felt to Harley like they did to him, then John couldn't blame him. It was, like, the best high. Calming. Relaxing, although he'd always felt like that around him. In love. He knew Washington was capable of full-on mind control of other ghouls. He'd freaked the few times he'd done it accidentally. But he would be fine. He was sure of it. There were worse things than glowing.


	47. Ordinarily Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ordinarily Human - Aviators

“So, I extend to you the question. Are you a synth?" DiMA stood like an uncanny deity with his arms outstretched, wires protruding from his back almost like an uncanny science experiment.  He was alien.

“No,” Washington replied flatly. “I came here to gain support for the Minutemen.”

DiMA’s mechanical face fell, gears whirring to pull at the remains of the white plastic shell. “And yet you seek for something. I can tell.”  

“No. We do not.” The reply was short and curt. Washington folded his arms. “You know nothing about us. Regardless, the Institute can't make ghouls. I have the scars to prove it.”

“DiMA.” A smooth Boston accent cut across the observatory. “Faraday wants to know what encryption you - oh." Another mechanical mess walked across the room with long measured strides. He smiled at DiMA before pointing towards John. “How have you managed to achieve an audience with John Hancock?"

“Hancock-Noble actually, Nick,” John interjected, relaxed. He shot Washington a look of confusion as he felt Washington stiffen up beside him. “Note the ring.” John flashed his hand lazily.

Nick Valentine smiled as DiMA shot him a look of confusion. “Why would this John Hancock matter? He is not the leader.”

“But he is the leader of one of the few functioning towns in the Commonwealth. Doctor Amari had strong ties with the Railroad. They could help us, DiMA.”

“Former mayor. Regardless, she's dead now, Nick. The fire took out the Memory Den just under a century ago.”

Nick sighed, part of him perhaps sick of outliving everybody. “So who are the rest of you, then?” he gestured at the small group.

John continued. “The brother with the blonde hair is Dylan. The Atom Cat looming over him is Harley Cat and the glowing one is _my_ husband General Washington Alexander Hancock-Noble, which is a bit of a mouthful, to be honest.”

“Are you the legitimate son of General Alexander Noble, then?” Nick asked, his tone pleasant.

“I'm the only son of General Alexander Noble.” Washington's tone was fierce. John placed his hand against Washington in an attempt to calm him.

“He mustn't have told you then…” Nick trailed off. “No matter. I'd want to keep that hushed up as well.”

Harley addressed Washington directly. “You aren't exactly a legitimate son, to be fair to the cat. You're adopted, right?”

“Yes.” Washington was curt. “I still remember what you did, synth. I haven't forgiven you.” 


	48. I Don't Want to Fall, Fall Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fall Away - Twenty One Pilots

The zealot flicked up his knife and ran it down the side of Washington's face. “I was told to make you bleed.” He smiled. “I'll make you bleed.” He dug the knife in at the top of his arms and ran it down.

“Why?” Washington asked with a pained grimace. “Zealot, why?”

The zealot pulled the knife back out and ran it down Washington's arms, aiming for the thinner areas of flesh. “Power.” He leaned towards Washington, twisting the knife. “Enjoyment,” Washington gasped and pain-filled tears leaked onto his face. “Pleasure”.

Washington closed his eyes and looked away. He willed himself away. He was having a nightmare. He was going to wake up and John was going to be comforting him, and he'd hug him back and nothing was going to go wrong. Washington wasn't crying, he lied to himself. He was.

“Look at me when I'm talking to you!” Washington found his head slammed back against the wall as the zealot yelled at him, jarring him out of his thoughts. "This needs punishment, I think."

He turned away from chained Washington and dug through a box he'd brought with him. “I know what hurts the monsters." He pulled out an IV bag and a bottle of pills. He shook them as he walked back over. “Are we scared?”

Still dazed, Washington didn't answer.

“Answer me!” the zealot yelled, startling Washington. He leaned towards him and whispered “monster."

“I'm - I'm not the monster here.” Washington looked as defiant as someone who was chained to the wall could.

“We’ll see,” the zealot replied, unfazed, as he hung the IV out of Washington's reach and injected the needle into his wrist, above his restraints. The zealot squeezed the bag, causing Washington to gasp out in agony as his veins set on fire. He gasped continuously as his cells died in his arms, taken out by the substance. He withered.

His arm was on fire. He felt hot tears run to his arms. He needed it out.

He thrashed against the restraints, trying to knock the needle lose, to make it stop.

“Curious, RadAway on ghouls. Rather than healing, it kills the cells. It's fascinating. Look at the tissues turning black as they die. You need the radiation to live, freak. It heals you. And the RadAway, it kills you.” The zealot gloated and removed the bag once the last drops had drained into Washington's system.

Washington sighed in relief when the dose had stopped being drained into his body, the burning relieved. “Thank you,” he muttered weakly, hating himself for it.

Unfortunately for Washington, the zealot grabbed his mouth and forced his jaw apart, working against the grit of it. He forced the pills into Washington's mouth and rubbed his throat until he swallowed them. Washington felt himself gag as the substance fought his body.

The zealot undid Washington's chains before turning to leave. “That should stop you healing so quickly. I'd just tell me what I want next time.” The zealot walked calmly away and locked the security door behind him.

Washington trembled as he dry-heaved, trying to fetch up the pills. He knew they'd dissolved already, but his body didn't. He heaved until he threw up and he cringed for losing the little food he'd eaten. He - He was going to die here, he knew.

His body collapsed under him and he curled up, clutching his stomach and falling unconscious. He'd - He'd never got to say goodbye. He keened for John in his mind. He wanted to go home.


	49. I'll Sing You a Lullaby Where You Die at the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milk and Cookies - Melanie Martinez

Washington growled at the glass of his cell, running up to it and punching it. “Fuck." He shook his hand, feeling the pain throb up it. He needed to get out, goddamn it. He continued to growl as he paced the cell. They had John somewhere and he was stuck in a tiny cell by the power of basically RadAway. When he got out, the Children of Atom were going to suffer. They were going to beg for mercy at the tip of his blade. He was a glowing one. Powerful. Unstoppable. Unless you had a decontamination arch and a ton of RadAway and Rad-X.

A zealot entered his cell. A waterfall of liquid RadAway poured from the ceiling as he entered, preventing Washington from teleporting out. Washington growled again. These worshipping idiots were smart. Too smart. They had him trapped. He keened, animalistic feral instincts awoken by the cage. John could be in danger. He could need him. Who'd bring him back if he wasn't there?

He fell back into a corner, hoping for a loose bit of metal, anything, to fight with. With wide eyes, he saw the person across the room fill their syringer rifle with what looked like RadAway. Washington panicked internally. This would be pathetic. Death by RadAway. He was better than this. They shot him, point-blank. There was no escape. He didn't cry as they shot him. He stared, wide-eyed, as he fell away. Was this really the end?

He woke up dizzy and disorientated a few days later in a new cell with two glass walls, the other two forming a concrete corner. He looked around, feeling sick. Washington hated RadAway with a passion. He curled up back in the concrete corner and keened, resembling a feral more than the proud leader of the Minutemen. It wasn't fair how much RadAway hurt. He felt like he was going to throw up, although he wasn't sure he had the energy to. Tears crept into his eyes. He ached. All of him ached.

He heard a slow knocking and dimly lifted his head to look at which zealot it was, only to see John looking at him, depressed. Washington crawled across his cell, lacking the energy to do anything else, and raised his hand to the glass to be matched by John on the other side.

John looked uninjured. "Good," Washington thought dimly. He mouthed “I'm sorry” to John before curling up against the glass and falling asleep. He ached so much. Would it really hurt if he gave up now?

Washington knew that if he escaped - when he escaped - the Children of Atom would pay. They'd pay for what they'd done to him. He was a glowing one. Powerful. And he was not to be messed with.

**Author's Note:**

> I will move these chapters to be in order as I work


End file.
